Detour
by Haleine Delail
Summary: The lost set of adventures between "Waters of Mars" and "The End of Time." You're alone, you're attractive, and there's something very important that you haven't done in over 400 years. If someone predicted YOUR death, what would YOU do to pass the time?
1. Me

**Off we go! **

**This fic is going to be fairly strange. It's the first POV piece I've written for _Doctor Who_, and capturing the 10th Doctor's voice is no easy feat.**

**Note the "M" rating, and keep an open mind. This is going somewhere, I promise, but it might not be pretty. You've been warned. :-)**

* * *

Me

Life is funny. And cruel and brilliant and enigmatic... sort of like me, actually. Only without the good hair and dashing smile.

And like me, sometimes it's all of those at once. We all take stock, we all look at our lives and wonder. That's something all sentient beings in the universe have in common.

Life, though... life is not living. Two totally separate things. Everyone has a life, but not everyone truly lives. Sometimes we forget that – even me.

Life gives you stuff. Living is about what you give back. When someone dies and we eulogise them and we begin to ask ourselves "how did he live?" The question is answered by what he gave back when life gave him _stuff._ When life gave him lemons, did he make lemonade or just stand there with a sour face wishing he had oranges? Or did he just let the lemons hit him on the head on their way to rolling out of the lemon patch into somewhere else?

But how does one _truly live_? If you exist as long as I have, you wind up asking that question perhaps more often than is strictly healthy. It can drive you insane, that. Especially if you change your face and personality and philosophy and environment nine times in less than a millennium. _Have I lived? Have I done everything I could? Last Tuesday when I was watching Susan Boyle on the telly, how many died on planet X, Y or Z? I should have been there to save them. Or maybe I should have just gone bungee jumping..._

Most of my life I've felt that truly living is facing down death, staring it in the face and telling it off. That's just the sort of bloke I am, and will always be. It's only the manner in which I do it that differs from one regeneration to the next.

And most of my life, I've also felt that living is surrounding yourself with people you love and trust and enjoy, people who are not opposed to _truly living _themselves. And with all of this, the most noble of sentiments, the real answer emerges: living is making the universe a better place. Which I really, genuinely try to do. Usually.

I've oscillated plenty, added to and subtracted from my basic philosophy. A lot of that has depended upon the people and events in my life - what _stuff _do they give me, and what do I give back? When circumstances destroy my home planet, how do I console myself? When someone I care about winds up exiled to a parallel universe, how do I ensure it doesn't happen again? When someone I care about cares about me a little too much, exactly how badly shall I take it? But almost right up until the day when I regenerated for the ninth time, I felt this was all I needed to know: Make the universe better by facing down death and caring for others. And that's that. _Fantastic. _I am complete.

Oh, but perhaps not.

And then something changed. Every time I wake from a regeneration, there is a bit of adjustment. I ask myself, who is the Doctor now? Apart from the basics, what am I like? Falling out of the TARDIS on Christmas Eve, I already knew at least one thing: the leather jacket and combat boots had to go. And when I woke up in the TARDIS hours later in Howard's pyjamas and stepped outside to face the Sycorax, I could feel something different. Something was making me different. But what was it? It was a familiar feeling, not totally alien, not particularly unpleasant, but definitely insistent. It was something I hadn't felt for a long time, and it made me feel restless.

And I hate to admit this, but when I looked in the mirror later, the feeling... well, I shouldn't say it got stronger, but I felt validated somehow. Maybe I felt that this body and that feeling made sense together.

Or maybe it was just my considerable ego already rearing its carefully-coiffed head.

I still don't have a name for it, other than something vulgar and inarticulate and not quite fitting to a man of my... whatever. I grappled with it in ways I would previously have thought impossible. Or at least juvenile. I had not been blind before, of course I knew that Rose was... I'll just call her _comely_. And also intelligent and brave. But suddenly, all of that took on a whole new meaning, and I found myself outwardly drawn to her, and inwardly running, screaming away from the prospect.

And it didn't stop there. Then I ran into Sarah Jane. Suddenly, for the first time in five hundred years, I thought, "I can't believe I blew that chance."

And then I mentally flogged myself even for going there. Our friendship had been... well, not like _that _anyway. It went without saying that I'd been a different man back then. I thought that man would have been ashamed of me. I began imagining coming to blows with myself. Giant scarf, wide eyes and brillo hair versus pinstriped suit, bedroom eyes and GQ hair. And part of me felt it ws right for _the other part of me _to win.

I told Mickey, "I could do with a laugh," and that's why I took him on-board. But that was complete rubbish and Rose knew it. She was beginning to see, and so was I. The difference was, she was willing and I wasn't – not fully. I hadn't been in a disposition quite so _youthful,_ in quite some time. _Living _was taking on an entirely different face, reflecting a side of me that was going to be difficult to quash. I wanted life to give me things it had rarely given me before, and I was ready to give back! Boy, was I ready.

And yet, not ready. I'm still nine hundred, she's still twenty. So... Mickey. He sort of saved the day. For a while.

You can call it self-loathing if you want, but strictly speaking, is that really what it is? Was? Is? I know that I've grown just a bit too attached to myself these days. But can you blame me? A pretty face will let you into places and things that psychic paper could only dream about.

A pretty face will let you _live_ like never before. If you know how to let it.

And I learned. Better late than never.


	2. Rose

**Once again, please let me assure you: this story IS going somewhere. It's not going to be a series of journal entries over stuff we already know forever! This chapter and the next two are just... adding to the fire.**

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Rose

All right, cards on the table: I hadn't had sex in over four hundred years, and I largely hadn't cared. For probably too long, I had thought that that part of my life was over. I left that to the young, the stupid. Those who visited the planet Battulashank, where the standard greeting upon arrival is copulation. Shagging meant drama, and I had enough drama in my life to sink the _Titanic_. And to bring it back up again, as it happens.

But since I've been in this body, I've felt the drama might be worth it. And disastrously,_ women like me_. And not just women, if I'm honest, but I'm not really interested in taking on Captain Jack as anything other than a travelling partner, so we'll just move on from there…

Of course, when I opened those doors, there were ten thousand Sycorax and four humans staring at me. But whose was the only face I saw? Ah, the lovely, lovely Rose. Lovely and _hot._ Blimey, how had I been able to sleep down the hall from _that_ for an entire year without going completely sack o' hammers?

I began messing with her head straight away. I asked her how I looked, she answered reluctantly. I could tell by the hesitation in her voice that she liked what she saw. I winked at her later, suggesting she might think I was sexy. She blushed. This did not help to abate my ego.

I suppose it stood to reason that I woke that day feeling truly horny for the first time in several centuries and as my first act in my tenth body, I engaged in a sword fight. And won. I wondered that day what kind of man I was going to be. I guess it was the kind of man who waves his weapon around a lot. While Rose holds my bathrobe, apparently.

It's interesting to think that in a new regeneration, my first day might set the tone for my new life. Sometimes I reflect upon what would have happened if the Sycorax had demanded that I play Dance Dance Revolution for the Earth's salvation that day, rather than fence for it.

Go ahead – picture it. I'll wait.

Anyway, back to Rose. It was horrible – I started to really, really want her, and she started to really, really want me. We could both tell. Everyone could tell! Poor old Mickey, Jackie, Lady Cassandra (eugh!)…

And Sarah Jane.

Just when I thought I might crumble, I run into her. Oh, and what a whole mess of new issues _she_ brought into our lives. I loved seeing her, running with her again… she smelled the same as ever, though it had an entirely different effect on me than it had back then. She assumed that Rose and I were... well, you get the picture, and I didn't correct her. I liked having her think it. I liked being thought of as a sexual being, someone who _lived _like others _lived_. (There's that word again.)

But Sarah, she'd got older. Not that she wasn't still absolutely lovely, but I was reminded of why Time Lords and humans can't be in long-term relationships. Humans don't survive what counts as long-term for a Time Lord and so we stay away.

Or, we bring our companion's boyfriend on-board as a buffer.

They did exactly what I'd hoped they'd do. The TARDIS created a bedroom for Mickey, but he hardly ever used it. Most nights, he snuck into Rose's room, and I think they both were able to convince themselves that I didn't know. I could hear them down the hall, the moaning, the furniture rattling, sometimes for hours. It gave me no pleasure to hear, but I listened anyway. Rose was harbouring something monstrous, for me, for Mickey, probably both, who knows? She was exuding pheromones I could practically swim in, and I willed Mickey to bang it out of her. It's vulgar, but true. I thought he could get it out of her system. I thought if they had each other, she'd turn that part of her attention away from me, and then I could have some peace. Maybe her _thing_ for me would go away.

Reinette

At some point while Mickey was with us, I lost my mind for a bit, and took a short holiday at Versailles. I figured, why not? Cool spaceship, clockwork robots, time portals – can _you _think of anything more my speed?

Reinette was smitten with me from the time she was seventeen, I could see that (not that it was exactly difficult to tell after she pushed me against the wall and stuck her tongue in my mouth). And I didn't hate it. Under any circumstances, I couldn't have left the child, the teen-ager nor the woman to perish at the hands of those Mardi Gras monsters, but the fact that she'd tried to climb me didn't really hurt my motivation.

Anyway, she wanted me to dance with her, so I danced. And the way she moved, the way she looked at me, I was glad she was wearing forty-six layers of petticoats below the waist, let me tell you, because well, I personally was not. There was nothing between me and the world other than a pair of pin-striped trousers and some Fruit-of-the-Looms. The state of things would not have been thought particularly dignified under the circumstances. Or, maybe they would have – who knows? They _were _French.

Hm. Maybe this is where I developed my fetish for women encumbered in layers of brocade.

Later that day (for me, _much_ later for her) I hatched a plan. A woman like that? She was one of the most brilliant and accomplished of her age, though she'd always been second best, always the mistress, never the queen. She deserved to see the stars, to be at the helm, to be at my side.

But if Reinette was finally going to stop being second-best, then _who_ was going to be second best?

Yeah. You see my problem. The next chapter of my life could have been entitled _Cat Fight in Space,_ and I might have enjoyed it, but it doesn't make it okay.

So, I don't know what made me think that it would be sporting to bring an 18th century noblewoman aboard the TARDIS without disturbing the natural order of things, both in history and in our lives. Well, actually I probably do know. And I know _for sure_ which part of me was thinking it.

I was trying so hard to distance myself from the idea of being with Rose, I'd brought Mickey into the mix. I figured, why not take it a step further and bring in someone else? Someone for me. Someone worldly, with experience, someone who wasn't twenty years old. Reinette was pushing forty by that time (though earlier that day, she'd been eight), had seen the world, conquered Versailles, given birth, met every conceivable historical figure who was contemporary with her, could play several instruments, speak seven languages, was gorgeous, and it had frankly been a while since the TARDIS had had a decent gardner (I'm not making an innuendo – it's the truth). And, she'd had the King of France. I knew I was better and I wanted her to tell me so.

So what? I'm a bloke. Sue me.

But it wouldn't have solved anything because Reinette was still human, and she was destined to live only another six years anyhow, and _I knew that_. So what the hell? I'm a Time Lord, for crying out loud! The thought of bringing a major historical figure into my life, let alone so I could sleep with her, should _never _have even _begun_ to cross my mind!

This _stupid_ body. Turning me into a complete nutter.

I'd really hate to use the phrase, "Fortunately she died," but… well, let's just say that I never had the chance to disrupt history any further, and it's probably better that way.

But, this little episode taught me a lesson – or so I thought. I _had_ to rein it in, get myself under control. Fortunately, I still had Mickey, and was hoping I could still count on him to plumb Rose's obsessions away.

Rose

Well, Rose's obsessions didn't go away and neither did mine. But you know what did go away? Mickey! And I couldn't even argue because the idiot was being so chuffing noble! Watching Rose cry as we flew away from him, perhaps forever, wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was not knowing what the hell to do next.

I'm pretty sure that's when I gave up, and from then on, our time together was like one long _date_. From then on, I was just warming her up. I would be charming beyond belief. I would let her see me being extra-valiant. I'd begin to tell her about my past…

Oh, I know. It's not like she wasn't ready, like I was preparing to steal a closely-guarded innocence. I was sure that at _some _point in the not-too-distant past, she'd been a virgin, but, well… not now. I had absolutely no delusions of seduction. But, I wasn't a cad. I wanted at least to have a relationship first, make us both feel like we'd earned it. I was biding my time, psyching myself up. I was letting go of my qualms and allowing myself to pursue what I wanted.

In my dreams, at first, she'd whisper my name and then I'd sink into her like a velvet bath, she'd moan and shiver, and I'd come, and then afterwards, we'd laugh and talk and play footsy.

Before long, I was suffocating, and _all _thoughts of her ran to a dark place in me, a lustful place of fantasy and something I'd thought long dead. No matter what manner of controlled, sensible, clever Time Lordy things came out of my mouth, all I could _think_ of was what I would do to her helpless, naked, quivering body as soon as I had the chance. She was soaking wet, her skin raw and pink, and she was panting and chained to things. Sometimes she was on her back, saying _filthy_ things to me, and other times, she was on her knees letting those luscious lips do what they seemed meant to do. She was in rubber, leather, lace, fishnet, collars, belts, boots, barefoot, red, black, clear. Every night it got more intense, every morning, it took me longer to calm down, clean myself up and put on my bloody suit. Every time she put her hands on the console, I fantasised about coming up behind her, whispering something in her ear to make her flush, and then bending her over it.

I know what you're thinking, and you're right. I _was_ regressing into adolescence. Thanks for pointing it out, by the way.

But after we were separated, every day, I wished I hadn't been so damned wishy-washy. Because unfortunately, with all of the twisted fantasies, it wasn't until I laid my head against that wall at Torchwood after watching her disappear through the void that I realised I actually loved her.

That was when the visions of her naked and begging were replaced by longing for what might have been. In that moment, I'd have given anything to have that velvet bath, or just a kiss. I'd have settled for one more look at her smile. The fantasies gave way to an emptiness, a great big hole of something unfulfilled, potential gone untapped. I knew I'd been self-indulgent and egomaniacal. All that hemming and hawing, flirting and driving us both insane the way I had, it had hurt her. And I'd never be able to take that back, never be able to give her that time. And worse, because I was such a coward, I was destined never to tell her any of this, nor even that I loved her.

And moreover, I promised myself I'd _never_ do anything like that to anyone else again. With any luck, I'd die again and regenerate into a circus clown before I met another attractive woman.

But I didn't.

What I _did_ do was check into hospital with "stomach cramps." Who would think that defrauding the British health care system would actually get me into trouble?


	3. Martha

Martha

So, yes, the stomach cramps were a ruse, but I _was_ on the mend, in a manner of speaking.

Well, feeling sorry for myself was more like it. But it had caused me to do some truly awful things, and it had taken an outsider to notice. As strange and semi-disastrous as that next year was, I still shudder to think of what could have happened without Donna Noble having come into my life when she did.

Oh, yeah, Donna. Let's take a quick B-road for Donna. I met her when she was doused with a kind of particle that was attracted to the energy at the heart of my temporarily unguarded spaceship and she was teleported into my console room just after I had burned out a supernova projecting my holographic image onto a beach in Norway where I was saying goodbye to a friend. Up to speed yet? Well, now, who _hasn't _had that happen at one time or another, yeah?

Oddly, over the course of that day, I felt drawn to her without feeling… _drawn_ to her, you know? She wasn't unattractive or unintelligent or uncaring – she was just different. I wanted her to travel with me, and not sleep with me – isn't that weird? It _felt _weird. But it felt right, like I could be myself again. But she wouldn't do it, and I can't really blame her. I'd killed an entire incubating pod of Racnoss infants, and I'd scared her to death. I wouldn't have wanted to travel with me either, after that.

In fact, I _didn't_ want to travel with me after that.

I try not to place blame. What happened with Martha was entirely my own fault. It's just that if Donna had come with me when I first asked, I could have avoided so much more pain and heartache, both for myself and for _another_ young, attractive woman whom I was about to annihilate (mostly unwittingly).

Don't get me wrong. I absolutely feel like a better, richer man for having known Martha Jones, but… well, I sort of destroyed her. Well, not really. But only because she's stronger than she looks. I _could_ have destroyed her.

All right, then, back to the main road.

So, I was on the mend, knocking about London in coffee shops and the like. And I noticed that Royal Hope Hospital had some electromagnetic plasma coils forming round the perimeter. The building was sitting, quite literally, _smack_ in the middle of London! I couldn't risk that it was being targeted as nesting site for the Lecirtele Tribe, who had been known to wipe out entire populations more powerful than humans. I had to have a look-see.

So I checked in. I happily ate the gelatine they brought, answered questions about bowel movements, and watched mind-numbing daytime television. At night, I prowled about and searched for clues that something horrible was about to happen at Royal Hope.

And, here's the fun part. I played a little game with myself. How many plausible excuses could I come up with to make the medical staff _not _listen to my heart? The fact is, I have two of them, and being forcibly dissected can really put a damper on your evening plans, so I found reasons to avoid it. _My cardiologist has asked that no other medical professional engage in any matter concerning my heart. I may have the mumps and be contagious. My brother was tragically killed while a nurse was taking his heartbeat, and now I have panic attacks. I have a stethoscope phobia. I've been watching _Queer Eye_ on the telly, and my heart-rate is up right now, can you come back later?_

And then they moved me to a different ward, and a different group of medical students came through on Mr. Stoker's rounds the next morning. They all looked like the same lot of reasonably intelligent young people, though nothing to write home about.

Except for one. I could have written home about the colour of her skin alone: _caffè lattè, _liquid caramel, impeccably aged Scotch (is it telling that those are those all things that taste good, or have I been spending too much time with Captain Jack?) Or just her large, ink-dark, soul-bearing eyes. If I'd had a home.

For her, I made no excuses. I allowed her to hear both heartbeats and just _hoped_ she wouldn't start chasing me about with a scalpel. Fortunately, she proved to be exceedingly clever, as well as exceedingly beautiful, and she told no-one about what she'd heard. True, she didn't cover her tracks very well, but I resolved to work with her on that.

And thus Martha Jones came into my already very complicated life. She served many purposes (blimey, that sounds dodgy, but it's not), in the long run, not the least of which was to make my life even more complicated. Oh yeah, and she saved the world, but we'll get to that.

All of my systems had been corrupted by recent events. I was fairly certain it was best that I not jumpstart them again, so I was just going to be careful. I needed someone, as Donna had said, to stop me, tell me to back off, just talk to me. And that was all. That's what I told myself.

And yet the _someone_ I'd chosen to stop me also happened to be someone who jumpstarted everything else. The look she gave me as she walked away from listening to my hearts said she fancied me. I gave her a similar look – read what you will from that. Yeah, normal people do that sort of thing in bars. Doctors do it in hospitals. I should get a tee-shirt that says that.

And when the plasma coils turned out to be a conductor for an H2O scoop and we all wound up in a hospital on the moon, I began pulling her along after me. She didn't freak out about being on the moon. She agreed to go out (on the veranda) with me, even though there might not be any oxygen. She didn't panic over the talking rhinos. She didn't run screaming when she found out that I wasn't human. She even found the offending alien before I did. And blimey, she could run.

Which was good, because the Judoon were using a SUGCAUR to suss out the non-humans in the building and we needed to evade them.

Speaking of which, do you know how many ways there are to fool a Standard Universal Genus Cerebral and Acidic Undulation Reader (SUGCAUR), especially the primitive sort like the Judoon were using? Well, there's digital virus, circuit adjustment or magnetic jamming. You could also ionise the air, get it wet or just yell at it really loud.

There's also Temporary Basic Genetic Transfer. Oh yes.

And speaking of which, do you know how many ways there are to perform a Temporary Basic Genetic Transfer? You can give someone one of your hairs, breathe on them, teach them a phrase in your native language, or give them a good, deep kiss.

Out of all those options, can you guess which one I chose? And can you guess how much I enjoyed those three short seconds of my long, long life? Oh, very much.

And the best thing about Martha Jones was that she didn't knee me in the groin when I did it.

Remember how I'd promised myself that I'd never toy with anyone again, never hem and haw, never drive us both insane with anticipation and teasing? Yeah, go ahead and laugh. I'll be here when you're finished.

You'll have guessed, then, that by the time we flew off in the TARDIS together that night, I'd blown _that_ promise six ways from Sunday.

Please know that reminding her constantly that she was not a permanent fixture in my life, that was meant to be _caution_ on my part. That was meant to help us both avoid the drama. If I kept her at arm's length, there was less danger that I'd make up some other excuse for a Genetic Transfer, and then maybe allow it to progress to a Genetic Installation (I'll give you three guesses how _that_ is accomplished). Remember, I thought I wasn't ready for the jumpstart. But I was kidding myself – she had jumpstarted me irreparably, and it was clear that I'd jumpstarted her. In the end, and all that my reminders did was hurt her feelings and make me look like an arse. The irony is, if I'd just given in and had my way with her, our lives might actually have been a damn sight less dramatic. At least one thing in our world could have been unambiguous, and we both would have been more relaxed.

Joan

And then I lost my mind again (this time literally), and took a long holiday as a teacher. I stopped playing Doctor for a while and let myself be wrangled by a nurse. And I let the maid watch.

Stop making that face. It's not as bad as it sounds.

Actually, it's worse.

Not beautiful, not historically significant, not even particularly nice, but Joan was a bold, strong, forward-thinking woman. And I was... well, I was a bit timid and weak and backward. Perfect match for a man in 1913 who had no idea there was life beyond his own backyard.

John Smith was designed to be my polar opposite, so that I could hide beneath him. Though he looked like me, he had none of my infernal bravado, he didn't walk like me, talk like me or act like me in any way. Which meant that he had none but the slightest interest in sex, women didn't notice him, and he saw absolutely nothing special about Martha.

But my personality couldn't be buried completely – this was made amply clear by _The Journal of Impossible Things_ – and the more time that went on, the more like me he became. Except, damn it, for that thing about Martha. Suddenly, the sullen schoolteacher was letting his ego be pumped by a pushy blonde, was thinking about the past and future all too much, and was running about a sleepy town trying to escape from monsters with vaporising guns. All the while, he was bitching and moaning about how all he wanted was Joan, pining for a life, a woman that he knew he ultimately wasn't going to have.

I only knew her for a couple of days, really. But in that time, we managed to destroy two lives (hers and John's) and damage two others (mine and Martha's). Because when it all came crashing down, a revelation came through, which I had been ignoring. I still remember Martha's exact words: "He is just _everything_ to me, and he doesn't even look at me, but I don't care. Because I love him to pieces. And I hope to God he won't remember..."

But I did remember, and up until then, I could still pretend it was just a dalliance, that she was still just flirting with me, still hoping I'd pull her into a broom closet or just take her out for a drink. I could pretend that she was still just in lust.

But no more. She had said in no uncertain terms that she _loves_ me.

And how did I respond? I invited Joan aboard! _Sure! Why not? _And I did not do so with particularly noble intentions. She'd been a good kisser – I was curious.

Thank heaven Joan had the sense not to accept. But think on that for a bit. Marvel, my friends, at how it could have been possibly the worst decision-making in the history of interpersonal relationships. Even worse than inviting Reinette, because Martha didn't have her Mickey to play with (not yet, anyway), and far from having saved her, I had wrecked her town and completely messed with her life. Was I blind?

Martha

Well, yeah. I reckon I was.

Because it seemed that in 900 years of time and space, I'd never learned to learn my lesson. Instead, I toyed with Martha some more, even knowing that she was in love with me. I spent several months with her, trapped in 1969, sharing a bed, no less, never objecting to it, nor ever "making a move." I could have, but I didn't. Once again, I knew that she would be... let's just say _amenable_. I knew that she would never say no to me, but I couldn't just storm the breach – not now. Things had got too serious now. You see? That's me, with the overthinking.

But I didn't have the nasty fantasies about her like I did with Rose. Something about her just didn't invite that kind of imagery. Martha Jones would never be spread-eagled and whimpering on the floor covered in leather and sweat. The fact was that I was never quite sure _what _Martha Jones would be like, and that was the most tantalising thing about her. She was elegant and beautiful, where Rose was just plain hot. She was well-educated, where Rose had street smarts. She had a worldliness, where Rose always took the domestic approach. I might have filled my mind and my dreams with pictures of her in a kimono or with nothing on under her lab coat, but they didn't occur to me at that time. I knew she _had_ to have a side to her that was highly improper, but her exterior chic made that side much more of a mystery, and the longer I spent with her, the more I wanted to find out about it. I _wanted_ her to be highly improper with me, but...

...she never was. Because for a guy who saves planets and throws himself into the path of an angry sun, I'm a real coward. Once again, if I had just got over myself and done what we both wanted, then things would have been a lot easier.

And then she single-handedly saved the world. I implanted the idea, but she did all the work herself. And I honestly don't know another single human being who could have done what she did.

She was _brilliant_, truly. And I loved her for that. Just not enough.

And yet, when the time came for her to leave, I actually let myself believe for a few moments that it was because she wanted to spend more time with her "devastated" family. In reality, of course, she had come to realise (or believe) that I didn't notice her and that she couldn't live with me anymore, not returning her feelings.

The sad truth was that I never gave up on Martha the way I allowed myself to give up on Rose. And which one of the girls wound up more damaged for it, remains to be seen.


	4. Donna

**This chapter is the LAST of the reminiscences. From here, we take a turn, so stay with me!**

* * *

Astrid

Over the next year and a half, I became slightly schizophrenic. Okay, a lot schizophrenic. Things began to change frequently and fast.

And so, on that subject, I met a serving girl called Astrid about, oh, _an hour_ after Martha walked away from me. I was fresh and raw, but hadn't had time to think of how empty I felt, walk about the TARDIS seeing reminders of Martha and sighing. I had plans to lay low again for a bit and lick my wounds – perhaps Istanbul this time. But once again, I'd lost a beloved companion but was forced to hit the ground running, and once again, I was reminded of what made me different.

She was blonde, with luxurious lips, just like Rose. She was tiny, but curvy, just like Martha. She was clever and cheeky just like both of them, yet oddly restrained like neither of them. Oh, and century ago (maybe, less than that, even), that black and white, puffy uniform with the high-heeled leather lace-up boots would have had zero effect on me. Now? Well. Haven't you been paying attention?

Martha and I, together, had unravelled a hypnotic trance which had pervaded the entire planet Earth, reversed the effects of a nine-hundred-year laser ageing process, beaten the Master, saved the world and made the entire human race feel as though it had never happened. I was feelin' prety smug, and thought I could do anything. So, as you may know, I was mightily pissed off when I couldn't save Astrid. Not only was my ego bruised, but I had thought that she would be the one. Well, not _the one_, but at least the one with whom there would be no stalling, who might be able to set me free. I had stalled too long with Rose, wrecked things with Martha... I wasn't going to have another one like that.

Not that I didn't like her, but with Astrid, there would be no pretence of friendship, no being battered and beaten by past failures, no moping, no being a gentleman. We both knew the score, and _that_ would be the score. The TARDIS need not make room for her belongings – she could store them in my bedroom, along with her person. And that uniform.

It was a relief to acknowledge this, to have decided. It wasn't that I didn't want to have any investment in Astrid, but I'd been wondering whether my problem wasn't related to developing _too much _investment before "going in," as it were. Humans often say, "I don't want to do anything to jeopardise our friendship," when they want to make excuses for not doing the physical stuff. I guess spending time around humans was getting to me. So, I decided that it would go much better if we didn't try to be friends first.

This is one of the few times when I can look back upon agreeing to take someone aboard, _knowing _I'd wind up sleeping with them, without feeling guilty about the fact. Now I think of it, it was the first time I'd done that without having another woman in my life who might have been just a bit miffed at the prospect. There was, to my way of thinking, nothing wrong with the scenario I had in mind (and I think she did as well).

But death seems to follow me, and self-sacrifice seems to be the fatal-beauty-of-choice whenever I'm around. I don't ask for it – people just do it. I can't seem to stop them, it's like a sickness. And it's not just since the pretty face – it's sort of been always, that's the tragic thing. Astrid, she threw herself into a nuclear storm drive to save me, because she knew that I could divert the crashing ship from the planet below. The connection between her teleportation bracelet and the power source was too degraded from diverting power throughout the ship, and therefore she couldn't be reconstituted as matter. So she became a sprinkle of starlight. It was a peaceful outcome following a violent death, but it meant that we would never travel together, or do anything else together that was particularly fun.

And after having accepted that she would by my companion, and the things we might do, it meant that I flogged myself for my transgression (even though there had been absolutely _no transgressions_, not one, in four hundred years) and blamed myself somehow for her death. As though the cosmos killed her because I'd decided to have sex with her.

Obviously, I knew that couldn't be true, but I did honestly feel as though all opportunities for _living _in the way that I longed to were being necessarily taken from me by some unseen force. I had argued with fate for too long, had grappled with the natural order, and I was miserable for it.

If the Time Lords had been at-hand, they could have set me on my path straight away, lashed my libido into check way back after the swordfight. But, there was no-one to steady me directly, so the universe had to prompt me to remember my place. Astrid's death reminded me that I was the last bastion of right and wrong, the last bloke in existence who could still wield time and see it blossom. My burden, my responsibility to the universe was too great to be distracted by a blonde in boots.

And it meant that I resolved to live a bit like a priest. Well, I didn't pray nor take a vow of poverty, I didn't hear confession and I didn't live in a rectory among other men, but in that _one_ fairly significant way, I decided to get back to basics.

_Get your mind off sex, Doctor. You've been learning the hard way: that way lies no good._

Donna

And in this regard, Donna Noble was a Godsend. Again.

After a few months in Istanbul trying (and failing) to develop a taste for Turkish coffee, I overheard some British businessmen discussing a weight-loss drug. The science was highly suspect, as they told it, and reeked of secrecy and spin. I wound up, as I always seem to, back in London, investigating stuff. It's sort of my career now. I should apply with the city, see if there are any jobs going.

So let's talk about Donna. I ran into her while I was crouching on a window cleaner's platform trying to eavesdrop on an intergalactic wet-nurse masquerading as a pharmaceuticals CEO who was interrogating an obscure magazine reporter. Still with me? Well, it was one of _those _days – you know what I'm talking about.

Anyway, Donna had been looking for me for the past year, ever since she'd turned down my first invitation to travel with me. She'd later looked upon that as the chance of a lifetime, which, like everything else good in her life, she'd let slip away. I, of course, had seen much more in her that was special, more than just someone who waits for opportunities, and lets good things escape. I'd always felt she was destined for more than just to live heartbroken and unemployed, in her mother's house, biding time. As she kept repeating over the next year, _she was a temp from Chiswick_, but oh, she had so much to offer.

We almost missed our opportunity again, because at first, I didn't see the potential for healing. For a few blind moments, all I saw was another woman whose life I could bulldoze, another human from whom to demand an unfair amount of loyalty. I knew I needed to live like a priest, I just didn't understand how instrumental Donna could be to that end.

"I just want a mate," I said to her. She had teased me about how Martha was "mad" and being charitable for loving me, and then made clear that she didn't find me very attractive. Apparently I'm skinny – had you noticed? I didn't like hearing it (ego, ego), and yet, it was liberating.

And Donna became my best friend – no strings, no complications, no thoughts of anything more. Anything more... what am I saying? What _more _could I have asked for? The universe saw fit to give me a fantastic partner and companion – I admonish myself frequently for using the phrase "just" friends. There is nothing "just" or simple about real friendship. My adventures and laughs and expeditions with Donna turned out to be some of the most cherished memories of my whole life. It hurts a lot to think on them, but nevertheless, I cherish them, because if I don't, no-one will.

That is the first part of the tragedy of Donna: She will never remember me, nor the time we spent together.

Contemplate that, just for a minute. Can you? Your best friend. She has no idea you exist, no memories of anything you did or shared, and never will. And to boot, she is shallow, ambitionless and perhaps a quarter of the human being you know she is inside. And it's your fault. I suppose it's a bit like driving a car into a brick wall and your friend is brain-damaged and turns into a vegetable. I'm not sure there are words in any human language to describe that kind of guilt, that kind of emptiness or sense of having wasted a life.

With Donna, I achieved a kind of personal peace that I hadn't felt in quite some time. My body sort of calmed down for a while, and stopped screaming at me constantly. Just as I had the year before, I found that being with someone I didn't want to sleep with felt right. I was back in my own proper skin again. Women were around, and I noticed them, and some of them noticed me. But the interaction was healthy, normal, not like a coiled spring or a time bomb. Even with Martha back in our lives for a bit, there was equilibrium above the neck _and_ below the waist.

Here is the second part of the tragedy of Donna: All her efforts and her positive effect on me were for nothing.

Because I was daft enough to think I'd actually grown into my tenth body, finally learned how to wrangle it under control. Worse, I started to think that I could be the same man again, that I'd been right all along those four hundred years during which many of my moving parts went unused: that portion of my life is over. And yes, I had been given respite for a time, but then I was thrown a wrench.

River

Yeah, I'm the Doctor. For most intents and purposes, that's my name. Most Time Lords are called by a title or "nickname" either given by teachers, elders, confidants or themselves. But each of them (us) has a given name, a name bestowed by the cosmos, the voice of time and the universe itself. It is whispered to his parents at the time of his conception, and relayed to him upon the air when he comes of age.

This is all Gallifreyan folklore-speak, of course. When they say "whispered," it refers to something called temporal telepathy, related to the phenomenon that gives me perspective over the flux and stasis of time. And when they say "relayed upon the air," they really mean that it's told to him by a parent or elder via a communications device that relies on radio waves. It's not as spooky as it seems.

But even more deeply-rooted in Gallifreyan folklore, there is a mysterious tale of a shaman of sorts, who could and would encompass a part of a Time Lord's soul within the revelation of his name. The Time Lord is said to gain certain powers, certain self-awareness when he is told his name. And only one who is to _share_ a Time Lord's soul shall have access to that revelation, the same power and awareness, during a ritual which joins the Time Lord and his intended. It's a bit of magic, really a trick of freakish astrophysics mixed with quantum-physics, which locks certain information away until the souls are joined. At that time, and not before, the Time Lord may choose to reveal his name, or not.

I don't fully understand it – I was never a Gallifreyan shaman, difficult as that may be to believe. And I know, it sounds all very austere and wizardy, but it's not that surprising; the Time Lords were absolutely _steeped_ in ritual and secrecy. It was like being Catholic, only with science and without the kneeling. We even had the huge hats.

And at some point during the time when I was travelling with Donna, blissfully believing I may never have to leave priest-mode, I met someone who _knew my name_. And when someone knows a Time Lord's name, and she's not his parent, that means that the Time Lord is decidedly something _other _than priestly.

And she wasn't a wrench. She was an archaeologist with a screwdriver.

She talked to me the way cops talk to each other in buddy cop films, the kind where one of them is considerably more mature than the other (she acted like the former, I the latter). She called me _Sweetie_, and _Pretty Boy_, and told me to calm down (I hate that). She threw around knowledge that she shouldn't have.

"Maybe the coordinates have slipped, the equipment is ancient," she said about my TARDIS.

"Use the red settings. Use the dampers." Neither such thing existed on my screwdriver. Yet. Apparently.

And blimey, she knew my name! But if she hadn't stuck out her hand and said, "Professor River Song, archaeologist," with that twinkle in her eye that suggested she knew more than I did, I wouldn't have known hers. One of the great hazards of time travel is crossing one's own timeline – it should never be done unless absolutely necessary. Almost as treacherous is crossing the timeline of an event to which you will someday become a part.

River Song was just such an event. I only _thought_ she had knowledge she shouldn't have, but as it turns out she _was _knowledge that _I _shouldn't have. She was one big, cheeky, walking spoiler. She had a journal that chronicled what turned out to be (as she was to die that day) our entire life together, a wicked, vile temptation, for someone like me. I can hop forward in time to see how just about anything turns out. On a few occasions, I have hopped backward in time, thus giving my past incarnations a bit of a sneak preview into "their" future. But barring that, as a rule, the one timeline which I can never fast-forward, the one future I cannot see is my own. I'm not a man who very happily adheres to "regulations," and that bloody book would have allowed me to flout one of my few limitations.

Few limitations. Yeah, I said it. And I stand by it, like it or not.

But there was no flouting. She wouldn't let me flout. River told me that I had said "no spoilers" at some point in her past. I know myself (mostly), and I believe her. But it didn't stop me from being immature and trying to get my hands on the book anyhow.

Perhaps I don't need to tell you, she turned out to be a bombshell in my happy existence. I had _just _found a kind of calm with Donna. Sex had not really crossed my mind in months – it was like being the Doctor again. I could focus in a way that I hadn't been able to since before Rose came into my life, and I really thought it was forever. I am the Time Lord monk, the man who can never have love, nor make love (and therefore never lose it). But River let me know, in no uncertain terms, that this body was far from being finished tormenting me, and that there were plenty of entanglements (literal and figurative) to come.

As I've said, death and self-sacrifice seem to stalk me like a bird of prey. She gave me the ultimate of spoilers that day by dying to the material world. But my life with her was still yet to come, and damn it, she awakened the beast within.

Christina

Little did I know that my tenth life was winding down, even then.

The beast was amiss, and a sign of the end, but it had not yet found the driver's seat when Rose came back into my life, thank goodness. But I will say that when I saw her again, I had no grasp anymore, no internal control – the way I was fighting with myself on the inside, it was like she'd never left. But of course, we never had a chance to fully reunite.

When my clone was born, he emerged in basically the same frame of mind as I was in at that moment... a little insane, ego-driven, and totally randy, except with one heart and a human lifespan. He was the price for saving the universe, the thing we had to "deal with" in order to get what we wanted. His existence wrought so much havoc upon my life, led to so much heartache, drove me back into the alone, dark places, and probably, ultimately, drove me here to tell this story.

He took Donna from me, he took Rose from me, and indirectly, Martha as well.

_That's it. I'm done. Lonely and alone – that's the way it has to be. I know there is a future out there for me with River Song, but I hope that's a good while off. That'll be when I've grown up._

By the time I met Christina, I'd been travelling lonely and alone for eight or nine months, doing the things I do. Christina and I got into a great big gaping jam, along with a bunch of other Londoners, and she turned out to be a bit of a handful. But she was slinky, pretty and clever, and having reverted to form, frequently during the day I spent with her, I thought that I wouldn't mind finding myself in a position to perform a Genetic Installation... too bad she was a thief, and I'd never be able to trust her enough to bring her in.

And hallelujah, at least she didn't die.

But it wasn't sexy Christina that finally drove me round the bend. It wasn't flesh or kisses or temptation or even my own body's drive.

It was Carmen.


	5. Detour

Me

So, to recap, I woke up one day a few years back, desperately needing a shag, and I didn't get one. In spite of a string of beautiful, talented, intelligent and _willing_ women who came and went from my life, I never indulged.

And then something changed me irrevocably. I was told that I was going to die. What you're about to experience is the story of several more beautiful, talented, intelligent and _willing_ women who came and went from my life... and I _did_ indulge.

Oh, did I indulge, and I wasn't very nice about it.

I know, I know. But do you know what happens when you suppress a shadow? It escapes as a monster.

So, I figure as long as I'm telling this story (which I'm beginning to regret), I might as well go whole hog. If I'm going to tell it, I want to do it right, so that you can understand my actions, not just judge them. I know you'll judge them anyway, but you need some context.

Except... context is going to be tricky. Hm.

Okay. Picture this: You love chocolate. Chocolate is your passion, your comfort, your favourite thing in the world. But you've spent the last six months avoiding chocolate, for whatever reason – maybe you don't want to gain weight, maybe you don't want to take chocolate away from hungry children, or you're intolerant of caffeine. Whatever. You've spent much of this time alongside people who unwittingly flaunt chocolate at you; they eat fondue while you watch, and you almost cave, but you don't. And you crave it like mad.

Then one day, your physician tells you that you've got a malignant tumour, and you're going to die in six months. You begin thinking about doing things to wrap up your life – you have six months, you're still young, you can still do all those things you said you'd do. You _should _go and work in a soup kitchen like you always thought you would, visit your great-grandmother at the rest home like you've been promising, make amends with that silly friend you haven't spoken to since you fell out.

But you don't. Instead, you act like a moron and try to cheat death. You laugh in its face. You go sky diving! And the unnatural pressure changes within your cranium exacerbate your sickness, and the tumour worsens. Now, because you _had _to prove something, because you tried to flog Mother Nature, instead of six months, you now have thirty days. You can literally count them. You're on your way out, and merciful heavens, you've been avoiding chocolate! You crave and crave and crave it, and your days are numbered – what do you do? Well, it goes without saying what you do. No more avoidance, no more sacrifice. You've got to start _living_. To hell with gaining weight, cleaning up after yourself, and bugger the fancy Belgian truffles. You've only got so much time – quantity over quality!

Well, that exact story happened to me. Except, instead of a physician and a tumour, it was a very prescient lady called Carmen and this phrase: "Your song is ending, sir... he will knock four times."

And instead of going sky diving to express being pissed off at my imminent death, I tried to change the laws of time and space to suit my desires.

And instead of thirty days, I was given _nothing_. I was summoned by the Ood and told to come and answer for myself _now._

But instead of chocolate, I wanted flesh. Some things will not be deferred, and some things will.

I knew that the Ood were waiting for me, so that they could point me in the direction of those four knocks that would hasten Carmen's prediction, but damn it, _I hadn't lived._ Life had given me so much, both within myself (see earlier notes on the advantages of good looks) and in the people around me (see above, re: the beautiful, talented, intelligent, willing women) and I had wasted it. I had given nothing back. The girls, ones who died or turned me down? Okay, fine, I could live with that. But the ones I'd let go because I was stalling or mistrustful or being a bloody gentleman? I could not _live _with that. If I was going to regenerate soon, I couldn't risk that I'd become someone as lucky as I am now. I couldn't just _count on _being handsome and charismatic the next time round; one time in ten, this had happened, and I've only got three left. What are the odds? What if I let this pass and never have the chance again?

Even as I was thinking it, heading somewhere other than to the Oodsphere, I knew I was being childish and egocentric and wrong, but I reasoned that I _deserved _a bit of a detour. How many planets had I saved? How many beings were currently alive because of me? Yes, this body and face and attitude had flattened several perfectly lovely women, but I had put myself on the line dozens of times to save more than several!

I was going to _live _now, and no bloody prophecy, no eerie call from the visionary Ood across the cosmos and the ages was going to stop me. I dared them to try.

Brace yourself for this. When we're finished, you might not like me very much.

Which, now thinking about it, is a phrase I should have used more often in the last few months of my tenth life.

* * *

Some, those of the less-educated persuasion, call it the Vegetarian Planet. But there is so much more to it than that. Frescaverdi is a planet that has learned how to use its natural resources better than any other I have seen. The planet, though its population density is slightly greater than that _your_ little planet, is entirely ecologically balanced, and remained that way for thousands of years. That, as you know, is quite a feat, though they are quite a young civilisation, or were when I visited. In fact, in your time, they don't exist yet.

I landed in the 93rd century, in the four-thousandth (give or take) year of sentient life on Frescaverdi. The environment, as far as I could tell, lived up to its reputation. The soil beneath my feet was perfect and black, and when I touched it and shined my sonic light into it, I detected zero decay, zero disease, zero signs of age and I could not ascertain its life cycle. The plant life around me was thick and luscious, a dazzling emerald green, with species of tree that even I couldn't identify. Nowhere did I see a single dead leaf, brown branch, or any indicator of breakdown. Every other planet that I had ever seen relied upon the decomposition of organic life in order to sustain its soil and keep the foliage healthy. This planet did not require it. From what I could see, plant life simply did not die here. There were no rotting leaves beneath my feet making their way back into the ground – only the impeccable obsidian dirt.

I pulled on my coat and locked the TARDIS behind me and left it in one of Frescaverdi's flawless forests. I explored, touched things, marvelled at the majesty with what was undoubtedly a goofy smile on my face. However, true to form for me, within ten minutes, I was standing in the middle of a circle of large, burly men pointing guns at me.

"Oh, blimey, here we go," I sighed under my breath, putting my hands up at my sides.

"Who goes there?" asked one of the men. All of them were wearing black military-looking uniforms with gold buttons and pointy hats, like the ones worn on Earth during the Great War. Except for the one who spoke. His uniform coat was red, not black, and he wore no hat. Interesting – no hat for the leader.

"Erm, I'm the Doctor. Hello."

The man in red looked at one of his comrades, who shrugged. Then he asked, "Doctor of whom?"

"Of whom? Well... of the seventy-sixth Convening Council of Gallifreyan Intelligence," I answered, vamping. There had never been any such thing, but these brutes didn't know that. Chances were.

"What?" he asked, incredulous. "Gallifrey is long gone, friend."

"Doesn't mean I'm not from there," I pointed out.

"What are you doing in Gestalt's forest?"

"Oh, is that what this is called?" I asked, stalling, as I often do, with whimsy. "Oh, it's beautiful! Look at that tree there, never seen one like that before. And mind you, that's saying something 'cause I've been around, me. What do you call that species?"

"Shut up!" he said. It was almost a whine. "Just answer the question, would you?"

"Sorry, what was it again?" I asked, cupping my right ear.

Around me, I could hear six guns cocking. Okay, maybe I'd better tone down the Columbo routine.

"What the hell are you doing here?" the man in red shouted. "And don't give me any lip!"

"I'm just a traveller, that's all, I swear. I'm not here to take anything or harm anyone – I'm here exploring." It was as serious as I could get, under the circumstances.

"Exploring?"

"Yes. It's sort of what I do," I shrugged.

He leaned over and spoke to the man next to him. They exchanged words for about a minute, and then the leader spoke again. "You'll be coming with us."

"Really? Where are we going?"

"You're going before Hephdor Gestalt," he said. "He'll want to know that you're here."

"Oh, Gestalt is a who, not a what?"

"Yes, this is his land you're encroaching upon."

"Well, I'm terribly sorry for trespassing," I said. "I'm sure there's no reason to go before... Hephdor, was it? I'll just leave – please convey my apologies." I put my arms down normally and gestured back the way I'd come, as though I believed they'd let me leave.

"Stop!" the leader said. "You will come with us, and that is not a request. And you will address our employer as Signor Gestalt."

"Aye aye," I said, saluting half-heartedly. The entire party of guards turned and began marching in the same direction I'd been going. I followed. As I did, one of the men stuck his gun underneath my arm in a gesture to make me put 'em up. So I did. I've never really been one to argue with the armed. Much.

As we walked down a long hill, I spied, in the distance, a large industrial area that seemed quite odd sitting in the middle of a vast forest like this. It had moving parts, rigs pumping, people milling. "What is that?" I asked, gesturing with my chin.

"Phosphorous mine," one of the guards answered.

A revelation hit me. "Ah! Do you have a salt mine nearby as well?"

"Just walk," I was told. "You can save all your questions for Signor Gestalt."

"Fine, fine."

Within fifteen minutes, I was marched into a palatial estate, through a side door of the mansion. I was led into a long, stately room with portraits of official-looking men on the walls and a huge dining table. One of the guards pulled out the first chair on one side of the table.

"Sit," he said. "Wait."

I didn't say anything, I simply sat down. To my surprise, the guard left me there alone. I was fairly certain that all the exits were locked and blocked, though.

I didn't have to wait long to meet this mysterious Gestalt. "Hello, sir," he said boisterously, not remotely mysteriously, coming into the room through a side door. He was portly with a full head of black hair. And he wore a dark blue suit with a burgundy tie. A proper suit and tie like the ones you lot wear on Earth. And, I suppose, like the one I wear. This man on a planet across the universe in the 93rd century was wearing a suit. Hm.

"Hello," I said standing up.

He reached out to shake my hand. "I must apologise for my friend Edlund. He's a bit on the militant side. Better safe than sorry, though. I hope the boys didn't bruise you."

"Edlund, he's the..."

"Head guard, yes," the man said. "I'm Haphdor Gestalt, and you are, I am told, called the Doctor."

"Yes, I am," I said.

"_The _Doctor?" he asked, smiling at me. "The legendary Doctor? The man who neutralised the Slitheen in the human sectors?"

"Erm, yes," I answered. "You know me."

"_The _Doctor," he repeated. "The Time Lord?"

I nodded, though I was beginning to feel that caution was of the essence.

"Do you still travel in a TARDIS?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. To this, he got unduly excited and clapped his hands. "Signor Gestalt, is there something you want?"

He laughed loudly. "Oh, ho, yes, sir! Please sit. And call me Haphdor."

I obeyed. "All right, Haphdor. What can I do for you?"

"I want you to meet my daughter."


	6. Maggie

Maggie

Gestalt led me out of the dining room into a hallway, and we walked. And walked and walked. Blimey, but that place was huge. I still wasn't sure why I was meeting his daughter, but I decided to let him do the talking. I just kept my hands in my pockets and, for once, my mouth shut.

"So is it true that Time Lords have a binary vascular system?" he asked. His tone had entirely the air of small-talk, though this talk, as it turned out, was not small.

"Yep," I answered. "Two hearts. Can come in handy. Especially if the enemy knows voodoo."

"Well, I'm no Time Lord. I've only got one heart," he said, looking up at me. It was the first time I'd noticed that he wasn't terribly tall. There was at least a six-inch difference between us.

Suddenly he stopped walking and gestured to the wall. "One heart," he said. "And it belongs to her." He was indicating a painting of a very beautiful woman; tumbling golden hair and bright blue eyes. The engraved label below said that her name was Ellegeda Gestalt, and gave the dates of her birth and death. She had been fairly young when she died.

"Your wife?" I asked.

"Mm," he nodded. "I met her after I returned from the war."

I wasn't sure to which war he referred – the intergalactic conflicts at this point in history were numerous, small and confusing. It could have been one of a hundred, but I didn't ask. It didn't matter.

"The battle had taken me across the stars, to different planets, stars, I even saw a Supernova," he said wistfully. "I suppose all of this is fairly elementary to you, Doctor, but to Ellegeda, it was quite impressive. You'd think I'd _invented_ all of that, not just seen it."

I smiled. "I know that phenomenon quite well."

He looked me up and down and smirked. "I'll bet you do. Anyway, Ellie had never left the planet. In fact, she had never left _this sector _of the planet. Her father had always been strict, felt that her illness made her too fragile to travel – she had a respiratory disorder. But she was forever talking about seeing what was out there, you know? And I figured, why be alive if you can't live?"

"Very wise," I commented.

"I mean, what was the point of her being all locked up in a room somewhere? Sure, it kept her alive, but what would she have to show for it? So, when we were married, I promised to show it all to her! But she became pregnant straight away, so we knew our travels would have to wait."

I didn't say anything, I just nodded.

Haphdor reached up and touched the cheek of the woman in the portrait. "She died giving birth," he said quietly. "Her respiratory disorder... well, she couldn't get enough air, and the baby couldn't either. But when the physicians were trying to replace her oxygen so that she could finish delivering, she begged them to route it directly to the baby instead. They did, and in the process, my wife blacked out and they delivered the baby while she was unconscious. But she sustained brain damage and..."

He looked up at me sadly, and gestured with his features that I should surmise what happened next. I nodded. "I understand."

"Well, it was up to me to raise our daughter," he said, taking his hand away from the portrait, and beginning to walk again. "And I vowed that I would raise her as an explorer, someone who would strike out across the stars, see the universe, experience it all, just as her mother never had!"

"Ah," I said, beginning to see what he wanted with me. I didn't protest, but I was suddenly a little nervous.

"I even named her after an explorer," he said. "An old Earth explorer who helped map out the unknown planet thousands and thousands of years ago. Magellan – heard of him?"

"Oh, yes," I said. Though I didn't tell him that I'd met him, or that he was pronouncing the name wrong. He was using a hard 'g' sound, and the explorer Magellan was Italian, and pronounced it with a soft 'g,' like the letter 'j'. But it didn't matter – his daughter's name was his daughter's name, and they had the right to pronounce it how they liked.

"Well, I'd hoped that giving her his name would give her his spirit," he confessed. He chuckled. "Silly, I know. But it did not – she has never had any desire to travel nor see the stars. I have tried to convince her, entice her, but she's... well, quite stubborn."

"That's too bad," I said. "But you know, some people are just happy at home. Not everyone is cut out for _the life_. Not everyone's cut out for being happy at home – you should be glad."

"But what more can she learn here, on Frescaverdi? How to mine Phosphorous? Or salt?"

"Phoshorous and salt! I knew it!" I exclaimed, my voice echoing in the cavernous hallway more than I would have liked.

"This is a limited existence, Doctor. She needs to expand her horizons."

"But why force her?" I asked.

He sighed. "Well, why don't I let the two of you commune before I tell you that."

I tried not to show the utter tedium which I was experiencing and/or expecting.

He led me into another stately room, set up for a party of sorts. There was a stage, a microphone, and perhaps twenty tables set elaborately.

"Doctor, this is our banquet room. Tonight, we're honouring a member of my staff who has served for forty years – he began under my father – but is retiring now. I would like to invite you to dinner. Unfortunately, because my daughter and I are hosting the event, we will not be able to welcome you at our table, but I will find you a seat amongst my senior staff. Do you accept?"

I didn't want to, but I said, "Absolutely, I accept."

"Wonderful. I'll have Alaphon show you to your room."

"My room? No, now... sir, that's not... that's not necessary, I..."

"Nonsense, Doctor, stay the night. You are my guest, and when I have guests, I do not host halfway. You can count on top-notch accommodations, you have my word."

I sighed. "Thank you, Haphdor."

He made a quick intercom call, and within a minute, a man, Alaphon, I assumed, a bit taller than me, was at my side and leading me uncomfortably by the arm. His grip was not tight nor insistent, but I didn't feel that I had the right to pull away nevertheless. I supposed that this was a custom of theirs, polite behaviour for someone in a position of domestic service.

"Here you are, sir. I will be back in an hour with your dinner jacket. Please relax."

I saluted him and nodded, and he left.

An hour later, true to his word, he returned with a tuxedo, just like the one I already own (only without the infinitely large pockets), and instructed me that I'd be welcome at dinner in forty-five minutes. I found the full array of personal hygiene products in the adjacent washroom, so I showered, primped (would you expect any less?) and put on the ol' penguin suit. I _refused_ to wear the shoes they'd brought for me – patent leather was asking a bit much, so I wore my own trainers, as always. A man's got to keep his individuality somehow, eh? Besides, what if these people brought me in here so that they could chain me to a wall and torture me with spikes or Michael Bolton music? I'd want to run from that, which I couldn't do in dress shoes.

I was escorted to a table with six other people, two men who were employees of Gestalt, and one woman, and their spouses or significant others. We all introduced ourselves – they seemed like a friendly enough lot. The food was good, the conversation dull, the ambience all right.

Halfway through dessert, a feminine voice came through the speakers saying, "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and variations thereupon. Tonight we are here to honour..."

But I didn't hear much that she said after that because I was... well, distracted. She had tumbling golden curls, large and luxurious like the woman in the painting I'd seen. To call her _blonde _wouldn't have done her justice. Even from afar, I could see her blue eyes, and a penetrating smile that (it's a cliché but) lit up the room. She was wearing a reddish-purple gown, floor-length, satin with gold accents around the edges. Which it was a miracle that I noticed because the gown also posessed a plunging neckline, and the girl posessed plenty to complement that line, other than a neck. She was voluptuous, wore the dress tightly and beautifully, and spoke with a natural poise and ease.

My eyes glued to the sight, I didn't need to be told, but I asked anyway. "Who is that?"

The man next to me answered, "Oh, that's the Great Magellan Gestalt."

My gaze snapped away from the girl and locked on his eyes. I was detecting more than just a hint of sarcasm There might be actual malice in that voice. "The _Great_ Magellan Gestalt?"

He scoffed, "Yeah. That's what we call her. All tongue-in-cheek. The boss has no idea, of course."

"Why call her that?"

"Because," a woman chimed in. "This girl will single-handedly kill our planet."

"Oh, Rhona, you're exaggerating," her husband said. "She's just a bit spoiled, Doctor."

"Well, yeah, she's always been spoiled. But now she's more than spoiled." Rhona protested. "She has her daddy wrapped around her little finger. She gets _what_ she wants _when _she wants it, at the expense of anything. She's finally crossed the line, if you ask me."

Several people at the table agreed with her.

Stealing a glance at the lovely, spoiled girl on the stage, I asked, "And you're afraid that her behaviour will somehow kill your planet?"

"Our planet looks good, doesn't it? Greenery everywhere, no signs of decay?" one of the men asked me. I think his name was Rodke.

"Yes, it's lovely," I agreed.

"Do you know how we maintain it?"

"My guess is that you lot mine phosporous and sodium, make phosphite salts which prevent microbial diseases in vegetation, keeps your forests going without relying on decomposition for a life cycle."

"Correct," Rodke said. "Phosphite salts keep our planet, and us, alive. Because the Tueribus Peridaius is abundant in our soil..."

"Oh," I said, long and knowing. "The all-killing microbe. I see."

"But the phosporous stores are diminishing – our natural resources are dying out, and our scientists are getting nowhere trying to develop a synthetic substitute. Without the phosphite salts, theTueribus Peridaius would run rampant. It's the single largest naturally-occurring life form we have on this planet! We'd have no plant life then, and no source of food if it were allowed to go free. We'd have to migrate to a different planet, or face total devastation."

"Well, so much for Frescaverdi achieving perfect balance," I muttered. "I guess that was just a myth. So, what's Magellan Gestalt got to do with all this?"

Just then, a thunder of applause filled the room. The man who was retiring joined Magellan on the stage to accept a trophy. He began to speak. I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Haphdor.

"Doctor, you don't have to stay for his speech," he said. "I know it'll be dull for you."

"Oh no, it's all right."

He ignored me. "Come," he said. "My daughter wants to meet you."

We went around the outskirts of the room to a door which looked like it led backstage. He went in first and gestured for me to wait. I could hear him inside trying to reason with his daughter, and I could hear her protesting that she had no interest in meeting me, she didn't care that I could travel in time, and she had no interest in spending any time with someone called _The Doctor_, probably a staunch, white-haired old... I turned my attention away from her until the door opened. Right then, my mind was made up as to whether The Great Magellan Gestalt would be exploring the cosmos in my TARDIS, no matter how enchanting that plunging neckline looked.

"Come on in, Doctor," Haphdor said.

"Daddy, you're wasting your..." she was saying. Then she stopped as she saw me. "...time. Hel-lo!"

She _was_ beautiful, I'd never begrudge her that. She looked just like her mother – breathtaking, really, with skin like a china doll. And clearly taken with me.

"Hello," I returned. "I'm the Doctor."

"And I'm Magellan Gestalt," she said, putting out her hand. She wanted me to kiss it, so I did. "But to anyone as handsome as you, it's Maggie."

"Okay," I said, smiling impishly. "Maggie."

I didn't particularly like her, not yet, but Holy Medusa was she gorgeous, and I wasn't hating the attention. Remember, I'd promised myself a good, long detour.

"I'll let the two of you get acquainted," Haphdor said, slipping out of the room.

"Well, Doctor," she said silkily. "Fancy a walk?"

"Sure, why not?" I asked.

She took my arm, and we headed out a side door which led into the gardens of her father's estate. The place was lit up like Versailles at night, and every single bush and hedge looked like it had been pruned by a professional topiary artist. Of course, at this point, there were voice-commanded machines which would do pretty much any topiary work one could ask for, but it did not diminish the beauty, particularly on a planet where no vegetation ever dies. At least not yet.

"My father told me this afternoon that you were here," she said. "He tells me you're a traveller. An explorer, like the real Magellan."

"I am that," I said. "Your father didn't lie to you."

"You know why he brought you here, why he wanted us to meet?"

"Well," I said. "I think he'd like me to take you with me when I go."

"Mm," she agreed. There was a pause while she wound up to bat her eyes at me. "And what do you think about that, Doctor?"

I couldn't tell her the truth, that I found her personality a bit, well, repellent, so I said, "I'm not sure, Maggie," and I shoved my hands in my pockets, even as she held onto my elbow. "Travelling with me is a dangerous gig. Lots of running, putting your life in danger."

"Close calls?" she asked.

"Yep."

"Life and death peril, shoved into close quarters, dashing about, making great escapes and rescues?"

"Yep."

She stopped walking and faced me, her eyes having narrowed into a different sort of mood. "That sounds... so... _hot_."

My eybrows went up. "Pardon?"

She snaked her fingers round my lapels and tugged at them. She brought her mouth just an inch from mine and hissed, "You heard me, Doctor. The idea of that gets me hot. Running around with you, shoved into tight spots, our lives in danger. Just think, we could die any second – but we're standing just an inch apart... mmm."

I kept my voice low, intimate, put my hands on her arms. "Didn't I just hear your behind that door telling your father you had no interest in any of that?"

"Yes," she admitted. "That was before I met you. A girl's affinity can change."

"I'm seeing that."

"Is there a Mrs. Doctor?" she asked, not having let go of my lapels, but now turning her head side to side, her mouth slightly agape. I couldn't help but stare at her lips. They were perfect, heart-shaped, red as blood.

"No," I said, still low. "Would that stop you?"

She smiled wickedly, and closed the gap between our mouths. I'd known her two minutes, and was already snogging her in her father's garden. Or, more accurately, she was snogging me. Not that I did anything to discourage her or act like I was diffident or surprised. Caution was thrown to the wind, my friends, and I went for it. My tongue... her tongue... my arms around her waist, my hands feeling the silken fabric of her dress, and the even more silken skin of her back. There was groaning.

I barely knew her. It was rare for me to be kissing someone I hadn't already had an aventure with, someone who hadn't had the chance to prove herself. But maybe that was good.

No, it wasn't good – it was just _easy_. God, it had been so easy! She fired everything she had at me, and we both crumbled like pound cake, and all I had to do was be sort of charming. Wear a tux. She was clearly not TARDIS material, but there we were. I was now officially a slave to... well, not my brain.

I'm not sure how long we went on this way, but another side door opened from the banquet and some people spilled out into the night air – the speech must have ended. We broke the kiss immediately, and she grabbed my hand and ran, and led me into an alcove between what looked like a fancy garden shed and the mansion. There, we continued our fun, alternating between me pressing her into the wall of the house and her pressing me into the wall of the shed.

"Doctor," she panted, as my lips and tongue worked their way behind her ear, down her neck. "Tell me a story. Life or death, tight situations, how _powerfully_ and bravely you got out of it..."

"Maggie, I can't do that," I insisted against her skin. "There's nothing like that to tell."

"Then make it up!" she said.

"Why don't you make it up?" I asked, pulling away to look at her. "And I'll tell you if you're right."

She slapped me on the shoulder and smiled. "Cheeky."

I actually stepped away from her then, smiled back. "Well, I wouldn't know where to start."

She feigned exasperation at me, and put her hands on her hips. "If you can't entertain me, then I guess it's my job to entertain you."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, now _truly_ being cheeky.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Secrecy is my middle name. Well, not really."

"Come with me, funny man."

Once again, I found myself being led into unknown recesses of the Gestalt estate. This time, it was rather surprising, as she took me to a place that seemed to go under the house. We took a lift down, down, down... I didn't bother to ask where we were going. I didn't like the feel or looks of it, but I knew I'd find out soon enough. Maggie was unlikely to tell me anyway, since her game seemed to be quite a coquettish one.

We stepped off the lift into bright pink light, rushing noise, and a great, cavernous space.

And then I could see how The Great Magellan Gestalt was going to kill her planet.


	7. Carousel

The Carousel

Later, I lay in the dark, in the room that Haphdor Gestalt had arranged for me, staring at the ceiling. When his manhandling manservant had shown me to my quarters, I'd had no intention of staying the night – by now I was adept at sneaking about and grinding away in my TARDIS to the next destination before anyone could catch me. But things had changed, hadn't they?

And I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong. For now.

No, the thing that had "changed" was not that I had met Maggie. No, we didn't spend that night together in any way, shape or form. Unless you count that we were in the same very large house. Don't get me wrong – I'm still the unlikeable arse at this point in the story, and after that truly astonishing snog, I'd fully intended to use this room to do things we'd never tell her father about. But after she showed me that cavern under the ground, I needed two things: one was to be away from her, and the other was time to think. _That_ changed things. Quite a bit, actually.

So I lay there in my tux on top of the covers, thinking certain thoughts. I marvelled at the selfishness, the utter lack of awareness that had led to the phenomenon I saw. Maggie was killing her planet – her father's employees were absolutely justified in hating her, or at least in being very, very angry with her. I wondered if she had any idea what she was doing. I knew she must have _some _inkling because otherwise, she wouldn't be doing it. She liked the power. But I was almost certain that she did not fully understand how dire the consequences were.

Even given that, more than once, I thought about leaving. Ultimately, I did not, because though I may be a bit off my game these days, I'm still the Doctor. I cannot leave a planet in peril, when there's something I can do about it. Especially since I was _certain _that the planet Frescaverdi achieved ecological balance, and I was certain as well that they had kept it that way for thousands upon thousands of years! I had to help them get there – it's what I do! But finessing this situation was going to be complicated because I was entangled now with Maggie, the very person who figured as "villain" in this little puppet show. I'd never wanted to shag my adversary before. Think how interesting my life would have been thus far if I had!

Actually, no. Don't think about that. Just... don't. Stop.

But the entanglement would make things interesting, that was for sure. I wished that Rose or Martha were with me. Travelling with attractive women had been thorny at times, but in a scenario like this one, it would have made things easier. Either one of them had the brains and mettle and sheer cheek to make Maggie stand down, at least from throwing her self at me. In fact, with one of them by my side, Maggie would probably have stayed coiled in the corner where she belonged, and we could tackle her (so to speak) as we tackled everything else, without the _other_ considerations.

Useless thoughts, all, though, because the fact was I was there alone, Magellan Gestalt was in the midst of carelessly ruining her planet, and I was going to have to take her down. That her face seemed made of painted porcelain and she had spectacular breasts and kissed like a fiend... well, I guess that stuff would have to be shelved.

The night was short on Frescaverdi – small planet, short rotation cycle. The sun shone through my window before I knew it, and I decided to get up and start what I knew would be a (figuratively) long day. I began with another shower, as cold as I could stand. I made some very strange noises against the cold and hoped that no-one was listening. I got back into my blue suit and dark shirt from the day before, and laid the tuxedo out on the bed for collection by the staff. I was standing, bent at the waist with my hands clutching the counter, staring at my unshaven face in the mirror, trying to give myself a silent pep-talk, when there was a knock at my chamber door.

But rather than wait for me to invite her, Maggie stepped inside presumptuously. And backwards.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Good morning to you, too."

I was being admonished (already?) for not greeting her properly, but I ignored her. Again, apparently. As she backed into the room, I saw what she was doing. She was pulling a serving cart with two pewter domes perched atop, a bowl of Frescaverdi native fruits and a teapot with cups.

The door swung back and hit her lightly on the bum as she struggled in. "Oh, hey, don't bother to help me or hold the door or anything," she said. "I'll be fine – I do this sort of thing every day."

I repeated my question. "What are you doing?"

"I'm having breakfast with you," she said. "Last night, when I saw you, I said to myself _'he and I will be having breakfast together.' _Well, it didn't go the way I thought it would, but I'm still not about to let myself down."

"Maggie, I don't think..."

"Shut up and sit, Doctor. After what you put me through last night, it's the least that you owe me. So how do you like your eggs?"

"What I put you through?"

"Hell yes, travelling man! Where do you get off coming back to your own room by yourself and going to sleep?" She took three steps toward me.

Defensively, I put my hands in my pockets and took three steps back. "It's what people do at the end of the day when they're tired," I said. "You need to get out more, Maggie."

"Please! When we were behind that shed you'd have pinned me to the wall, and then staked me into the ground if I'd even half suggested it! And I'd have let you."

"Charming. Very lady-like, Maggie." Ooh, apparently I now had a high horse. Blimey, I was being a prat.

"Ugh, don't you deny it – I could feel it!" she shouted. She put her hand on her abdomen. "Right here against me, I could feel it, like a rock! I'm surprised I don't have a bruise there! And then it was all, _good night Maggie, I hope you dream of forests and flowers. _So what gives?"

I sighed. This was an opportunity, possibly to make amends with a very spoiled child, and also to manoeuvre this planet back into a safe zone. "Let's have breakfast, Maggie."

She huffed, and sat down sulkily in a chair near where she'd left the cart. I played the gentleman and took both the pewter domes and set them aside, then poured the strange-smelling hot liquid that wasn't tea into our cups. I pulled up a chair opposite.

I took a bite of egg tossed with fresh native vegetables and a pungent cheese. It was a lovely flavour, quite unique to this planet. Maggie ate as well. I had expected her to dive in and shovel her food, but she behaved with a measure of decorum. I'm not sure why I thought she'd eat so hungrily – I guess because she kissed that way, and spoke that way.

"So tell me about that big pink glowy thing you showed me last night," I said.

"You mean, the thing that made you wilt."

I stopped short for a moment, furrowed, then gathered myself. "Yeah, I guess. Tell me."

"You're the man who's been all over the universe," she said. "Why don't you tell me?"

What a bitch. I guess I'd sort of met an appropriate match for this chapter of my life.

"All right," I conceded, taking another bite. "It's a phosphorous carousel, isn't it?"

"Right you are, Doctor."

"Yeah, that's the easy part. What I don't understand is why you told me it was a gift from your father. That seems a bit... on the outside."

"Because it _was_ a gift from my father. When I came of age."

"Why would your father give you a phosphorous carousel as a gift?"

"Not _a _phosphorous carousel, Doctor. _The _phosphorous carousel. The only one on the planet! And he gave it to me because I asked for it. Because I wanted it."

"You wanted an unlimited supply of phosphorescent rock?"

Her eyes lit up, almost evilly. "It's spectacular, isn't it? It's like a laser show, the Aurora Borealis and the ocean lit up by Luminous Salmon Jellyfish all rolled into one!"

"Glowing pink dust, rushing in a circle..." I mused.

"Three hundred feet high, two hundred feet in diameter," she finished. "It's fantastic."

"And you wanted that all for yourself."

"Yes!"

"So your dad just... what? Went out and bought it for you?"

"Well," she said with mock sheepishness. "I'd expect that he had to do some wrangling, but yes."

"And do you _share_ this gift with anyone?"

"Only a select few," she said, almost in a sing-song fashion. "Those hand-picked by me. Like you."

"Oh, I see. Why not let everyone see? Make it an attraction, part of the estate visit."

"Because it's mine. I have other gifts, as you well know, Doctor," she said, leaning over, intentionally giving me a very nice view of her cleavage. "But you don't expect me to go showing them off to people. What would you have me do, sell tickets?"

I smirked. "You'd make a mint if you did. But those," I said, indicating her décolletage, stealing a not-so-secret look at them. "They belong to you – they're part of you. You do what you like with them. The phosphorous carousel is part of your planet. It belongs to the people of Frescaverdi. You have an obligation."

She smiled knowingly, and leaned forward even further. "Oh, is that what you're about?"

I leaned forward, matching her. "Yes, that's what I'm about."

Our faces, our lips, were about two inches from each other, so close that I could smell the honeyed tinge of beeswax wafting from her matted, light pink lipstick.

"You went all limp over a little geological phenomenon," she whispered. "How very disappointing, Doctor."

"No, I didn't," I whispered back. "The sheer stupidity of it just made me think slightly harder with my actual brain."

"Either way, blood flowing in the wrong direction." She averted her eyes and looked at my ear, my neck. She licked her lips and stared at my jugular like a vampire.

"The planet is dying, Maggie," I said, deciding to jump in, but keeping my voice low and intimate. "The phosphorous mines are running down. Your carousel is self-replicating, and could give Frescaverdi an unlimited supply of what it needs to combat the microbes. And you're keeping it all for yourself."

"The planet can survive another four hundred years with the stores it has – I've looked into it."

"That's best-case scenario, and four hundred years is nothing. I'm twice that age and then some. It's a trifle."

"You're looking good for your age."

"Don't change the subject."

"Four hundred years is good enough for me."

"You're not alone on this planet, love."

"All for myself, that's the way I like it."

"Mm, interesting seduction tactic."

"It's what I want, it's what I get."

"Do you always get what you want?"

She cocked a naughty eyebrow at me. "Eventually."

I finally sat back in my chair and crossed my arms, regarding her. "My God. You _do _understand what you're doing."

"I usually do, sweetheart," she said, leaning back, mirroring my position.

"Well, that just makes this whole trainwreck so much worse," I muttered, almost without moving my lips. My back teeth were clenched.

"Why's that, then?" she said, brow furrowed, bottom lip stuck out. Mocking me. Lovely.

"Because you're willfully killing your world, and taking millions with you," I said. I used my stock phrase, a phrase that made me feel powerful, even though I always knew it would not be well-received. "And if you don't stop, then I'll have to stop you."

As predicted, she laughed out loud. "Very sinister! Very convincing. And, very hot – has anyone ever told you that you're sexy when you're menacing? Come on, Doctor, threaten me some more!" She made a great show of putting her arms on the armrests of her chair and bracing her hands round it.

"Maggie, this is no joke."

"Oh Doctor," she cried out. It was a half-shout, half-sigh. "I'm not _willfully_ killing my world. I don't _want _it to die. I'm not doing this so that all the vegetation will eventually be killed and then cause us to starve or move."

"Then why are you?"

"Because it's pretty, and I can. Some people are privileged, and get the lion's share of what our worlds have to offer. I am one of those people, and I am entitled to have my carousel if I like."

"Even at the cost of an entire civilisation?"

"Everyone who is alive today will be long gone by the time the phosphorous runs out! Including me! Technically, I'm not currently hurting anyone."

I truly believed in that moment that I'd never met anyone who more completely failed to see the big picture. And I've dealt with genocidal robots and possibly the worst dicatorial megalomaniacs in existence. "What about these people's grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and the generations after that and after that? Don't they deserve consideration?"

She shrugged. "Doctor, I can't police the future. It's not my job."

_That's right, it's mine._

She continued. "My father provides for me, and it's not my fault if the masses can't provide for each other or themselves."

"So, you are provided for, and after you're gone, who cares? Is that what you're telling me?"

She shrugged. It meant yes.

Something occurred to me just then, and I rather clumsily changed the subject back to the food. The hot drink turned out to be something that I will never, ever put in my mouth again and wouldn't inflict on my enemies, but the rest of the meal was delicious.

Maggie, of course, made a coquettish (and yet, effusively forward) promise to see me tonight. I had no idea where she had to go that day – reckoned it wasn't to work – but it didn't matter, as long as she was out of the way until I was ready for her.

* * *

Once again, I found myself wishing that Rose or Martha could be there, of course, still knowing that if that were the case, I wouldn't be in this mess. But having a partner meant, in a sense, being in two places at once. Both girls always hated when I said, "Go distract that guy while I..." but they did it, and they were good at it. Hell, they distracted _me_, why wouldn't they be good with the others?

I could use a partner right now to distract, to relay messages, to shout "fire," because I needed to make sure that Haphdor Gestalt and any potential goons were thoroughly engaged. I didn't have that option, so I just took my chances.

I found Gestalt's office after a careful combing of each floor of the south wing of the mansion. I sonicked the door as locked as I could make it, and hoped he'd slept in today and didn't own a battering ram. Cheating a bit with the sonic, I "thumbed" through his vast, vast computer files, looking for deeds to large acquisitions. I was floored (but not really) at some of the ridiculuous and amazing things the man had bought, and how many were currently in his daughter's name. She asked, and eventually, she got.

In my "thumbing," I learned something about the people of Frescaverdi. Their government was entwined with clergy (I hadn't even known they had clergy!) and used a similar mix of astro and quantum physics to the Time Lords. Our shamans used it to lock away information to protect the Time Lord soul. On Frescaverdi, it was used as a document seal, sort of like notaries are used in some places on Earth. It ensured that except under given conditions, contracts could not be broken, wills could not be violated, deeds could not be transferred. All consequence for violation was irrelevant – violation simply _could not _be committed. If you try to quit your job before your contract is up, the seal will drive you back to work in the morning, and every morning until you've fulfilled your obligation. It eliminated an entire sector of their justice system, the red-tape lawsuits that were so rampant in other parts of the universe.

It didn't take me too long to find the deed to the phosphorous carousel. Gestalt had paid several fortunes for it, purchasing it from a government official who was, undoubtedly, very shady. Interesting, interesting. But the best bit was the caveat, the seal put on the document.

As she had said, Maggie's father had provided for her. And if I was right about certain things, certain assumptions I'd made about Gestalt, and his relationship with his daughter, it was going to be _so much_ fun foiling Maggie's selfishness!


	8. Torture

**This chapter is long and packs a punch! Maggie and the Doc are going to hit the sheets, and you're either going to think it's really hot, or obnoxious. I hope, frankly, it's a bit of both. Enjoy.**

* * *

Torture

"Doctor, there you are! Been looking all over for you," I heard as I was trying, very carefully, to pull Gestalt's office door shut. I jumped. Well, my insides jumped. My outsides were cool as a pin-striped cucumber as always. Gestalt was coming round the corner with a couple of his cronies, who passed us and disappeared into a different room. He indicated my hand on his office's doorknob and asked, "Looking for me too, I see."

"Yeah, I sure was!" I said. I smiled big and covered my tracks. "Just coming to say... sorry I didn't have a chance to say good night last night. Just went straight to my room – knackered."

"Oh, that's all right," Gestalt said. "So, what did you and Maggie get up to?"

"We went for a stroll in the gardens, then she showed me the phosphorous carousel."

"Well, Doctor, she's never shown it to anyone! She must have taken a bit of a shine to you."

"I gathered that, yeah."

"So," he said, clapping and rubbing his hands together. He began walking slowly down the hall and I followed. "Any luck with convincing her to travel with you?"

"No, she's still, er... resisting me."

"Well, she'll come around," Gestalt assured me, patting me on the back.

"Probably."

"Oh, Doctor, more than probably!" he exclaimed. "If she showed you the carousel, then you've certainly won her favour. You're the first to see it since it came into her hands."

I furrowed. Maggie had said that she had shared this phenomenon with "a select few," and I was one of them, not the only. I was beginning to think that I was on the right track concerning Haphdor's relationship with Maggie. I reckoned that there were quite a few things Maggie had done for "a select few" which her father didn't know about.

I played the game with him. I needed some information before I could execute my very dodgy plan.

"I'm the first? Hm," I commented exaggeratedly. "It's a shame about the phosphorous shortage, though. Seems like a carousel like that one could keep this planet balanced for a lot of years. But, well, I suppose when you love someone, what's a little geological hoarding? Small price, eh?"

He stiffened, didn't meet my eye. "Y-yes, Doctor," he said. "I know it's not ecologically sound, but you know, nothing but the best for my girl! Do you have children?"

"Not anymore," I confessed.

"Sorry to hear that, but you do understand, then. How we have to make sacrifices."

I didn't confirm nor deny. I understood making sacrifices, but I did not understand the sanctioning of a planet's death in order to satisfy the greedy desires of a daughter

He explained, "When the shortage was discovered, I let Maggie know, and gave her the choice to break the seal... But she decided to keep things the way they were." He laughed uneasily. "I did try to convince her, oh yes! But the girl knows what she wants! She's like her mother that way."

I wanted very badly to admonish the man for indulging Maggie at such a price, but I refrained. I still needed some intel, and he needed to trust me.

"She keeps a tight lid on her assets," I commented, trying to steer the conversation in a particular direction. Inadvertently, I'd said something pointedly untrue, and disastrously, it forced me to remember the sight of Maggie's magnificent cleavage unfurling itself before me this morning over breakfast.

"Yeah," he said, grinning with glee thinking about his little girl. "She can be shy."

"Mm," I grunted.

"I worry that once I'm gone, she won't have anyone. She doesn't interact with men."

"What makes you say that?"

"She doesn't speak to any of the men I introduce her to, except for you."

Did he really think that just because she didn't speak to the men her dad brought in, that there _were_ no men? Well, yeah, he did. I was right about that.

"Really? Why do you think that is?" I asked.

"Well, I've raised my girl properly," he declared. "She's choosy. She knows that she needs to save herself for someone who really loves her."

"When you say save herself, you mean..."

"I mean _save herself. _Remain pure."

"I see, I see," I said, nodding along.

I'm not an expert at this, and I know it had been a while for me, but... _seriously? _Had he _met_ his daughter? Of course, she's not going to behave in front of him like she does in front of me, but he _had_ been there when she began flirting with me backstage at the banquet the night before. No inkling at all? Not even a hint that his daughter might be different than he hoped? Yikes!

"I see," I continued. "I can see why a father would want a daughter to be married before... you know."

"Well, Doctor, it's the 93rd century," Gestalt said, sort of knocking his head back and forth. "The ethic that people have to be married before they can copulate, that's fairly archaic, old Earth mythology. My Maggie knows to hold out for someone who loves her. She'll find him someday, Doctor, but she needs to _allow_ someone to love her. That's what I want for her, and I've tried to provide for her that way."

"How d'you mean?" I asked, already, of course, knowing the answer.

He looked up at me with surprise. "Oh, I've said too much," he reported, sheepishly. "Let's just say that Maggie has many assets, and they are a lot to handle. I've made it so that she doesn't have to handle all of them alone – she'll have a partner, someone who loves her, with whom she can share the burden."

I continued to play dumb. See? The Columbo routine is a winner!

"You've made it so?" I asked.

He sighed. "Well, earlier I mentioned that the seal could be broken. That would be on the deed to the carousel. All of Maggie's assets are sealed with a type of... we'll call it magic. All legal documents, as a matter of fact, and the only people who can unseal them are clergy, by way of an appeals process..."

"Right. With you so far."

"Under a seal, certain conditions must apply before changes can be made to a document. Or, say, before she can transfer the deeds or make major arrangements for her properties," he said. "It's to protect her from those who would take advantage of her."

"Of course."

"To her, well..." he leaned in close and whispered the next two words. "..._sexual intercourse_ is true love. It is the ethic I raised her with, and someday..." he spread his hands in a gesture of, _you see what I mean._

"I see. So you've provided a caveat that allows someone who loves her to..."

"Share the burden, as I said. Just as he will share her life. I don't want her to be alone and overwhelmed."

"Wow, it's interesting to know how a will works Frescaverdi," I said. It was a statement that sounded contrived even to myself, but he bought it. "Where I come from, it's quite different." I was baiting him, playing dumb again. There were a couple more things I needed to know before I made Maggie give up partial ownership of her precious phosphorous carousel.

He chuckled. "Oh, it's not in my will," and then he stopped and looked at me quizzically again. "I can't believe I'm telling you all this, Doctor. You seem to inspire a kind of confidence."

"Yeah, I have that effect sometimes," I said, winking with a friendly nod.

"It's attached to the deeds of certain pieces of Maggie's property," he said. "That way, she can share her life and her assets with someone and I don't have to die before it happens. In fact, I'd love to see her happy before I die."

Okay, so Haphdor Gestalt didn't have to be dead for it to work. Brilliant. Otherwise, I don't know what I would have done. I was in a dark place in my life, but not _that _dark.

"I wonder what Maggie thinks of all that," I mused, baiting him again. "I'm sure she's grateful to be so well taken-care-of."

"Oh, she doesn't know about that part," Gestalt said. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell her. She gets bristly sometimes if she thinks I'm babying her. She doesn't understand the consequences, and how hard it can be."

"Ah, well, your secret's safe with me."

* * *

And it was. Safe, I mean. At least in the sense that I wasn't going to tell anyone, but I sure as hell couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't use this information against him. Or, against his daughter, rather. Maggie had a bit of manipulation coming to her – she'd certainly done plenty of it herself.

Of course, the caveat given in the seal wasn't _really_ a secret, or it wasn't a revelation to me then. I'd already read the deed to the carousel on Gestalt's computer system and seen that the 'magic' automatically transferred partial control/ownership of the phosphorous carousel to a man who loves Magellan Gestalt. That man may then make decisions regarding the property, as well as may Maggie herself. What I needed to confirm was my hypothesis that Haphdor thought his daughter was 'pure' and that she would only have sex with someone who she was sure truly loved her. When I saw the condition, I knew it! It's what all deluded fathers think of their manipulative, selfish, spoiled, attractive daughters. Textbook, really.

I also needed to know whether Gestalt had to be dead for it to work (no), and whether Maggie knew about the caveat (also no). In that case, based on Maggie's behaviour, I imagined that there had been a few dozen partial owners of that carousel over the past few years.

And I was about to become the next. Hell of a way to save a planet, eh?

Oh, I know. I could have just gumshoed about for a bit, tried to find the last guy she slept with and convince him to give up the carousel to save the planet, completely circumventing Maggie altogether. But where's the fun in that?

* * *

I was calm as I waited for her in my room after dinner. She'd made her suggestive promise to see me tonight, so I was fairly certain that all I had to do was await the bite, and reel her in. I wondered very briefly whether I should change into a fresh suit or restyle my hair or something. In the end, I reckoned it didn't matter. I was a game to her, as she was to me, and I could have looked like a rodeo clown, and she'd still try to get me into bed.

Same was true of her, actually, but thank heaven it didn't come to that. When she arrived, she looked... well, not like a rodeo clown.

At dinner, she'd been wearing a red blouse and black trousers and her hair had been pulled back into a knot at the nape of her neck. Now her hair hung bouncy and loose and she was wearing a black lace négligée that came just to her knees, tied below the bust. Underneath, she had on a black bra and very tiny knickers, and that was it. If there had been any doubt about her intentions before this, those were now clearly out the window.

In her hand, she clasped a small black bag.

"What's in the bag?" I asked, after looking her up and down.

She put a hand on her hip. "_The bag _is the part of this ensemble that you're choosing to focus on? Am I being too subtle?"

"No, I really don't think that's the problem," I said, stepping aside so she could enter. I locked the door behind her.

"Well, if you must know," she said, sauntering in, tossing the bag on the desk. "The satchel contains my toothbrush, lipstick, deodorant... all the things I'll need in the morning. I'm not planning on going back to my own wing until well after sunrise."

"Just curious: what are you planning to wear, as you walk across the entire estate in broad daylight?

She scoffed. "Please. I've shagged half the guards. It's nothing they haven't seen."

"I'm glad to know you've thought this through."

She crossed the space between us and began toying with the buttons on my jacket.

"You still owe me a bedtime story, Doctor," she said, her voice dropping almost to a whisper.

"A tale of close quarters and daring escapes," I muttered, with absolutely no intention of telling her anything.

"Mm-hm," she sighed, tugging both buttons loose and opening my jacket. She ran her hands up and down my chest, and looked at me through giant lashes. "But I have to warn you: I'm very excitable."

"I'm okay with that," I said, barely moving my lips, allowing my eyes to drink her in. I reached out and pulled back a little corner of the front of her lace robe, then leaned in and kissed the bit of exposed area beyond. She gasped, and I worked my way up her collarbone, up her neck and around her ear. She gasped a little each time I planted a kiss on her.

"Please talk to me, Doctor," she whispered. "Tell me what your life is like. Tell me what it's like to run with you."

I didn't say anything, I just kept my lips busy elsewhere and buried my hands in that gorgeous, wheat-coloured hair.

"Have you ever been captured?" she asked, leaning her head back.

"Loads of times," I told her, accepting her invitation to kiss the underside of her neck and chin, still cradling her head.

"Have you ever been shot?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Run away from an explosion?"

"Yes," I said, continuing my way across her neck.

"One that you set off?"

"Ohhh," she sighed. "Have you ever been tortured?" She pushed my jacket over my shoulders.

I looked at her quite seriously, intensely, and nodded slightly as I shrugged off my jacket.

She pulled away from me a bit. "Would you like to be again?"

I raised one eyebrow at her. I didn't smile.

She unclasped her robe and slithered out of it, and it pooled at her feet. She stood there in some very skimpy underthings, prompting me to look her over once again. Then she moved toward the bed and crawled across, her perfect bum toward me. She moved unnecessarily slowly, and then turned back to look at me mischievously, just to see if I was drooling yet. I was, but I wasn't going to let her know.

She turned and faced me, perching on her knees. "Come here."

I didn't move. "I don't think so," I said. "You, get on your back. I'll show you torture."

"Very commanding, sir," she said as an evil smile spread over her lips as she slowly obeyed me. "I never would have guessed, given those soft brown eyes. Although, I should have, given what you're about to do."

"Done it before," I shrugged, pulling my tie loose. I was acting more cool than I felt. "I'll do it again."

She laughed. "Yeah, but you don't even _like_ me. Bet you never did _that _before."

"That's true. I don't, and I haven't," I agreed, and then I fell forward with my hands on either side of her, and looked down at her with all of the hideous mixture of lust and disgust that I felt. "But there's a first time for everything."

I started once again at her ears and neck, and kissed her slowly, all over, working my way down.

As I went, she sighed and moaned softly, and unbuttoned my shirt. Eventually, it got in my way, so I stopped for a moment to pull it off. I pushed both hands underneath Maggie's back, and she manoeuvred herself to allow me to unclasp her bra. She smiled at me as I tossed it aside, and soaked up the truly mesmerising sight of her breasts, uncovered. Bloody breathtaking. I made a point of examining them, showing how beautiful they were to me. And then I ignored them.

I kissed and licked my way painstakingly across her collarbone and the flat area just below. She held her breath, but I skipped the area in-between and continued my downward trek over her stomach, again, painstakingly.

"Doctor," she whispered in surprise. This gave me a shot of pure heat. "Kiss them!"

"Shush," I demanded.

Her own hands flew to her breasts and she kneaded them. "I need your lips on me _here_!"

I stopped for a moment and looked at her squarely. "Shush," I repeated. Then I pushed her hands back down to her sides, and went back to work on her abdomen. She let out a small cry of frustration, and I smiled.

When I reached the band of her knickers, I bit at it and tugged, then let it snap lightly back against her skin. I pushed back up to a kneeling position, straddling her legs. I indicated the last little bit of clothing she was wearing, and demanded, "Off. Now."

I stood up to give her room to move. She raised her eyebrows and looked down at my now rather misshapen trousers. "You too, then."

I shook my head, did not change my expression. She looked at me with annoyance, sighed and pulled her knees up to her chest, slipping her tiny black pants down her legs. She slingshotted them off the tip of her toes, and I watched them fly across the room and make an astonishingly small, twisted pile on the floor.

I returned to my task, beginning just below her navel. Licking, kissing, biting softly. Down, down, and Maggie held her breath again. Then suddenly I moved to the side, kissed her hip, the top of her thigh. She held her breath _yet _again. And I moved to her inner thigh, moved my tongue in circles, then the other thigh. She cried out in aggravation, let a vulgar expletive fly, as she demanded that I put my tongue to use just an inch and a half to the left. I shushed her each time she made a demand, and batted her hand away when she tried to bury her fingers in my hair. When she tried pushing her hips up, I pressed my hand against her stomach and kept her down, but moved my thumb in a small circle just above her opening. I watched with glee as her fingernails dug into the bedspread, and delighted in her utter frustration.

She was not going to be selfish – I wouldn't let her. Not with me, not tonight. And neither was I.

Although, frankly, I was driving myself insane. I would have liked nothing more than just to ravage her, possibly four or five times, then kick her out. But that's what she wanted! After I'd admonished her for keeping the carousel all for herself, she wanted to watch me lose my composure at her behest. I'd already made clear that I was doing _nothing _at her behest.

But blimey, four hundred years. I'm not even sure you can get your head around how long that is. You must understand, though, that I am a man of great patience (when I choose to be), and I thought this was my last hurrah, my final lesson before dying. I wanted it to last. Not to mention, I'm an expert on turning the tables upon my adversary. Watching _her _lose _her _composure while I kept mine? Vindication. Oh yes.

Finally, I stood up and removed my trousers, never taking my eyes off her. She stared at me with a mixture of desire and anger, which was exactly what I'd wanted. But she didn't move until I moved toward her again. She put her knees together and lay flat, with a defiant expression.

"Don't play games with me," I said.

"I know what you want. You know what I want."

"I'm not telling you anything." My teeth were clenched.

"Tell me one of your _great, great _adventures, or you don't get me," she insisted.

"Right. You're just going to walk out of here."

"I know you'll do it, because you don't want to have to take care of _that_," she said, indicating the member jutting out insistently from between my legs. "On your own."

"It's been four hundred years since the last time, Maggie, and you've seen that I'm not about to throw caution to the wind. Four hundred years. I've walked away from better than you."

She was silent for a minute, then she asked, "Why won't you tell me?"

"You don't deserve to know," I said, still keeping my voice even. Then I said something I would regret. "To tell you about them would be betraying them..."

"Them?" she said, sitting up. "Oh, do we have some travelling companions?"

I was stoic. Inside, I was thinking, _shit._

"You said you've walked away from better than me," she taunted, sitting back against her hands. "Now I see. Those girls in your life... such a long, long life, so many adventures and no time for love."

"I already said I wasn't going to tell you anything."

"Such a pity, because if you..."

"Stop talking," I demanded, once again finding my bearings. She had got me off-balance talking about my brilliant girls, but I regained my command. And I didn't have to raise my voice, I just gave her the steely gaze.

She looked at me sheepishly. "Why? Were you going to try to pretend I'm someone else?"

Damn it.

"This is your last chance, Maggie," I warned. I was saying it to myself as much as to her; now or never. I wasn't going to let her inside my head. I crawled back upon the bed, over her. She lay down slowly as I made my way up her body. I had my knees and hands planted on either side of her. "Yes or no. You either want it or you don't." As an afterthought, I forced my tongue into her mouth and she groaned, sucking at it.

When I pulled away, we were both panting. "Yes," she said. "I want it."

"Good."

"But you tortured me," she said. "You didn't give me what I wanted. You've made me _wait_. No one makes me wait. I think I'll make _you_ wait for a bit."

"Rubbish. Spread your legs."

It just came out. I couldn't stop it. I shocked even myself.

Her jaw dropped in surprise, but then a naughty smile came across her face once again. She pulled her legs up, spread her knees and I got between them, and pushed inside her. We both let out a good, deep grunt, and the smug smile on her face was gone instantaneously, replaced by something a bit more visceral.

How to describe the first shag in four hundred years? That first thrust forward, the first warm sinking-in, the frisson of need to drive forward, to do it again and again until the need is gone. I'd forgotten how powerful it is, how rational thought peels away the deeper you sink, the mind becomes irrelevant, and every fibre and frequency of your being becomes engaged in the needs of your body. I'd forgotten that abandon, how good it feels to let go, and not be a genius for a while. I'd forgotten the simultaneous clouding and igniting that happens, as though you're caught in a house fire, flames chasing you, spurring you on, but the smoke keeps you entrenched and needing.

The sensation was so strong in that moment, tears came to my eyes, and my voice cut through the room like a jagged piece of glass. I thought my head might burst with the intensity of it. I was still for a long moment, until the need drove me further, and I pushed in again. Maggie's eyes were locked on mine, and her face registered total surprise. Her voice was high-pitched but soft as I pushed through to her core again. And then again, and then again... but after a few minutes of making the same noise, looking at me the same way, her voice and face began to change.

Her breathing grew more intense, her sighs became cries and her face scrunched up, tightening with the rest of her body. I did not change – I continued what I was doing, outwardly satisfying only myself. Inwardly, of course, her tightening and pulsing and finally, her release, were burning me from the inside, and I strove to make it happen. I had to concentrate very hard to hold back when it did, when the muscles inside her began to billow around me, and pull me along with her. But I did not change. I managed to keep calm, keep my rhythm, keep my eyes open, and convince her that I was indifferent to her pleasure. Even as I began to increase my pace and lose control, and I saw her eyes begin to glaze over, and euphoria set in.

But I knew that I could not survive another bout like this – I knew that if she came again, I would too. I would have loved to go all night, to give her orgasm after orgasm until she was limp like a rag doll and couldn't speak anymore (hallelujah), but I knew differently. Four hundred years is a very long time.

I leaned down close to her ear and whispered that I wanted to watch her explode again.

She whispered back, "If I go, I'm taking you with me, travelling man."

Another thing I'd forgotten about sex was the heightening of not just sensation, but _feeling_. When you love someone, during sex, you _really_ love them, want to devour them, be one with them – that's the hunger, that's where it comes from.

But disliking someone – this was new. I looked down at her, this silly, selfish, manipulative, lying, spoiled child of a woman, who was still trying to get the better of me. And I realised, there, in living colour, with my body on the edge of meltdown, that I couldn't bloody stand her. For one thing, she was a terrible person, and for another, she was making me dislike myself. I'd just taken partial control of her most prized possession and she had no idea... I'd used her. My qualms were fairly limited; I had already decided (rationally or irrationally) that she had it coming, that this would be satisfying to her and to me. Everyone wins.

Every time I've made a morally ambiguous 'they had it coming' decision like this, I've hated myself in the end. And I blamed Maggie for driving me to it, for being such a slinky bitch. Because _someone_ had to do something to release that phosphorous carousel, or the planet would die in relatively short order. And that someone might as well be me. The solution was here, in our bodies clinging to each other, pressing and sliding, not in death, so where was the harm? The liaison was what she wanted, it was what I wanted, and the people of Frescaverdi would be safe for thousands of years to come.

And I tried not to think of any of this as Maggie crested, and so did I. I'd been right – I couldn't survive another climax from her, and even though her declaration clawed at me and I wanted to give her no power, I came with her. And God help me, it was exquisite, like a diamond cascade, or a geyser contained in a glass jar. It filled me up, and her, and then I was so spent, it was unbelievable. My elbows gave way, and I literally collapsed at Maggie's side.

We lay there panting for a few minutes, and at last, Maggie began to laugh. I wanted to muffle her with a pillow.

"That was bloody fantastic," she burst out. "Way better than Marcolius, the security guard."

"Wha-?" was all I could muster.

"Mm, had him last weekend," she said. "Such a disappointment for such a noble-looking bloke. You, though? Whew! You're a bit on the skinny side, but I'll tell you one thing that's not lacking about you, Doctor..."

"Just... stop, okay?" I said, placing my hand over my eyes and forehead. I wasn't forceful anymore, and I wasn't angry, I just couldn't bear to listen to her. I was beginning the process of sinking into self-loathing, and I didn't need her prattling on, destroying my perfect, dark bubble of bile.

"Okay," she conceded lightly. "Just saying."

I sighed in annoyance.

We were silent for another five minutes or so, and as my body calmed, my mind became more and more twisted-up in knots. I was contemplating whether to ask her to leave, whether to brave the night with her, or to wait for her to drift off so I could sneak away.

She finally stood up without a word, and picked my navy blue shirt up off the floor, and my underpants, and put them on. "I'll have them returned to you in the morning," she said. "I've got places to be."

"Not that I care," I muttered. "But I thought you were staying 'til morning. Brought your little toiletries bag and all."

"Yeah, well," she said. "I'd have thought you'd have another couple of rounds in you. I'm starting to think that's a bust, so I'm going out. Find myself someone who can get me through the night, yeah?"

Bells went off in my head. If she found another bedmate tonight (and I had no doubt that she could and would), ownership would transfer again and I'd lose my chance. I had two choices – one of them was risky, so I chose the other.

I sat up and leaned across the bed, grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down with me. She giggled. I guess I did have another couple of rounds in me.


	9. Elle

Elle

Of course I was long gone, and had got myself into some trouble by the time Maggie even stirred. I'd made a point to wear her out, so when she fell off into dreamland, she was good and lost for quite some time.

Due to the heavy security at night round the estate, I'd had to use a different terminal this time, but a quick look through Gestalt's files told me exactly who I needed to talk to. A bloke called Sinjin was the Minister of Ecology. He was sceptical when I told him why I wanted to see him in the wee hours of the morning, and he was surprised as hell to find that I was telling the truth. After years of trying to solve the phosphorous crisis, he nearly wept as I passed the deed to him, with witnesses, including a clergyman to give the document a new seal. I thought he might shake my hand right off the end of my arm.

Next came the difficult part. I could have left then, and frankly, neither Maggie nor Haphdor Gestalt would have known about the transfer. The carousel hadn't moved, it was still there, beneath the ground under the Gestalt Estate, and it was limitless, self-replenishing – the absence of whatever the Ministry mined would never be noticed. Maggie could go on thinking she still owned it, and her father would never have to know what we did. What I did. Better yet, he'd never have to know what his daughter was.

I might be a bastard sometimes, but I'm not a coward.

"Knock, knock," I said, sticking my head inside Gestalt's office. He'd left the door slightly ajar anyway.

"Oh, come in, Doctor, come on in," he exclaimed, waving me inside. "What can I do for you today?"

"I've come to say goodbye," I said.

He looked stunned. "And Maggie?"

"She'll be staying here with you, sir," I told him.

"That's not acceptable," Gestalt insisted, standing up. "I brought you to my estate so that you could take my daughter with you when you left."

"But I never agreed to that, Signor Gestalt. Those were conditions that you set without my consideration."

"Why, you wily Doctor," he said.

"If you like," I said. Then I sighed heavily. "And anyway, I don't think you'll want her travelling with me now after I say what I have to say. Because I've also come to tell you that the deed to the phosphorous carousel has been transferred to the Ministry of Ecology. It is in the best interest of your planet, and I'm sure you'll understand."

"The deed has been… what? That's not poss… how could you know?"

"Because I made the transfer myself, sir," I confessed. Then I waited for it to sink in.

His eyes grew wide, and his mouth formed an 'o' shape. I watched the pink wash into his face, and he began to try to speak. "You… you…" and then he gave up and just let out a god-awful _argh_ noise.

"I'm sorry, Haphdor," I said. "It had to be done. I save planets and civilisations from those who would destroy them. It's what I do. It was wrong for her to have that carousel, when so many others needed it. And you know it."

"You betrayed her," he insisted. "You expect me to _thank_ you for stealing a rare and precious innocence? My daughter… what you did to my daughter! How could you tell her you loved her, and then... and now you're leaving? Do you have no scruples?" He was practically sputtering now.

"With all due respect…" I began. And then I stopped.

I almost told him that I didn't steal her innocence, that that had been gone for quite a while. I almost said that I didn't have to say I loved her, that she practically painted herself on me, and on my bed. I almost told him that it was better me than Marcolius the security guard, but I didn't. I'd done what I set out to do – Frescaverdi would be safe. Maggie had had her fun, I'd had mine, there was no reason for Gestalt to know the truth about his precious Maggie. He was, in spite of having raised a beast of a daughter, a good man. The truth might have destroyed him.

"Yes?" he asked angrily.

"With all due respect," I repeated. "Yes, I do have scruples. Lots of them. I've got scruples to spare. I'll leave it at that."

"I should have you arrested. What you did was…" he stopped. What I'd done was perfectly legal, and he knew it. Sure, it was morally questionable, but legal. "Please depart from my house, Doctor. And never return."

"Yep - on my way. I've got a couple of things to get from my room, and then you'll never see me again."

He sat down and seemed to go back to work, and I went back to my room, where Maggie still slept.

I sat down on the bed and woke her. "Hi."

"Hi," she groaned. "What time is it?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm leaving."

"Oh. Okay."

"Go talk to your father. He's mightily upset with me. You can blame me for everything, if you want," I said.

"What are you on about?"

"Just talk to your father. He'll explain it all."

"Okay. Goodbye, Doctor. It was fun, yeah?"

"Oh yes," I said. "You can hate me later, if you want, but don't let it eat you up inside"

"Why would I?" she smirked.

"Right," I sighed. "That would imply that you care."

"Exactly."

"Well, talk to your dad. And trust me, you'll care."

I moved to leave, and as I neared the door, she said, "Doctor? Will I ever get to know what it's like to live in your world?"

I stuck my hands coolly in my pockets. "I don't think so."

There was a pause, and she said, "The girls you travelled with, they must have been something, if you shared that all with them."

I nodded. "Yeah," I whispered. "Bye, Maggie."

And I left.

And I hated myself.

And I hated Maggie. Well, _hate_ is too strong a word. I was brassed off, in a serious way. She'd got her final revenge, even if she didn't know it.

_The girls you travelled with, they must have been something, if you shared that all with them._

Of course it was all my fault, not Maggie's, but we all know how the blame game is played when one really should be accepting responsibility. For a clever guy, I'm slow on the uptake when it comes to relationships, and I didn't even realise the full extent of my self-loathing, nor the reasoning behind it, until I hashed it out later with Kali.

As consolation to myself, I hopped forward in time a couple of thousand years. I simply hovered round Frescaverdi for a few minutes, resisting the urge to land. All I needed to know was that they had achieved the ecological balance, as I'd heard in my travels that they had. If I could find that out, know that I did some good in my indulgent screwing-around, then I could learn to live with myself and this body. For whatever time we had left together.

* * *

I was standing in the doorway of the TARDIS, looking wistfully down upon a satisfyingly green planet, when a mass of fiery red debris skimmed past at a gazillion miles per hour, nearly whooshing me right out of my vessel. I looked after it, dumbfounded for a few moments, watching it disappear into space. Then the TARDIS' sensors began to make noise, identifying the item, and the technology within.

It had technology. That meant it was a ship, not a piece of rock as I'd originally thought. That meant it was manned, and if it was hurtling that out-of-control through space and flaming, then it was in distress. I set the TARDIS to chase after it, and hoped we could catch up before it crashed into something.

As we got closer, and I hung on for dear life, I asked the TARDIS to identify who was on-board the distressed craft. The answer came back: it was a child. That made this whole rescue operation a hundred times more important, and a hundred times more difficult. Not only did I feel very urgently that I need to get him or her out of danger _as smoothly as possible,_ and back to his or her family, but I also felt that I needed to find out why the hell any thinking adult would launch a child into space. There was either great danger on their home world, or great danger within the child's family. Either way, I decided to make it my business.

These thoughts went through my mind in fragments, racing past to make room for strategy. The burning ship reached some sort of critical mass, and the TARDIS sensed that it was about to deploy or explode or eject its occupant – any way you cut it, it wasn't good news. I didn't have the stability to engage a temporal lock, didn't have time to cultivate an energy lasso and didn't have the manpower to engulf the child in meditative suspension. I hadn't used the transmat beam in I don't know how long, but it was my only hope now. The TARDIS knew where to aim, and before she knew what hit her, there was a crying child standing in the console room. About three seconds later, her ship exploded into a million little pieces of burning space junk.

Once I was satisfied that all of the debris was safely away from the TARDIS, I tended to the little girl. She was still crying, standing perfectly straight on the metal grate, with two fingers in her mouth. She was perhaps five years old, wearing a tiny leather-like space suit with a little helmet, her unkempt yellow hair emerging out the bottom. I knelt in front of her and removed her helmet.

"There now," I said softly. "It's all right, it's okay…" and I pulled her against me gently. As I did, she put her arms out and they went around my neck. I was surprised that she took to me so easily, but reckoned that she was too frightened to be suspicious – just needed comforting. I had no idea how long it had been since she'd been with an adult or had any sort of affection, and I wasn't the greatest choice in the universe for comforting a scared child, but there I was.

Again, I was wishing I had backup. Not that I believe women have an 'inborn' instinct to deal with terrified children any more than men do, but Rose and Martha and Donna all certainly had the talent for comfort. I found often that they were great partners in that capacity, when I was not able to offer any solace.

She didn't stop crying, though, in fact, continued to wail unabated right into my ear. I didn't mind – I was running my hands and fingers over her head looking for injuries, weaknesses. She'd been wearing a helmet, and she'd got out before the explosion, but one never knows. I absolutely could not proceed with her at all until I knew whether she'd sustained any mental damage. Satisfied that her skull was appropriately hard and intact, I just held her and whispered to her, waited for her to stop crying.

When finally she did, it was a fading-out, not a cease-and-desist. Children can't just take a deep breath and calm themselves – they see no reason for that. They are honest about their emotions, so when they seem cried-out, they're all cried out. I hoped, anyway. After the sobs became chokes, then softer sobs during which she jerked in my arms, then heavy, barely-controlled inhale/quick exhale, she laid her head on my shoulder. I realised that her little hands were digging into the upper arms of my suit, clinging to the fabric with her whole fists.

"Okay, sweetheart," I whispered. I began to try to manoeuvre her hands into loosening their grip – this much tension couldn't be good. "Why don't you let go now, yeah?"

She allowed me to unclench her hands and then voluntarily lifted her head and stepped back. "All right?" I asked. Her bottom lip stuck out like a tree branch and she wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, and she nodded. "Do you think you'd like to cry some more?" She shook her head.

I picked her up and sat her on the stool near the main controls, then rooted round in one of the cabinets below the console for some tissues. I found a pile of napkins from a fast-food place and gave her one. She used it to wipe her tears, then balled it up in her hand and sat, looking down at the floor, with her feet sticking straight out in front of her.

I knelt once again so that I could see her face. "I'm the Doctor," I said. "What's your name?"

"Elle," she she said with her tiny, shaky voice.

"It's very nice to meet you, Elle," I said. "How old are you?"

The answer she gave me told me that she was approximately the equivalent of five years and three months, as measured on Earth. It also gave me some information as to where she was from. Time is measured in Rotations, as she'd said, in a neighbouring galaxy called Lirswil. Okay, getting somewhere. But there were still eighteen different planets, sixteen of them inhabited by humanoids, that she could possibly have come from. But I decided not to grill her any further. I'd ask her more questions once she was calm and comfortable.

"Would you like to eat, or to rest?" I asked.

She didn't answer, she just held out her arms to me. She wanted to be carried. My hearts broke, and I picked her up as she wanted, and she wrapped both arms and legs around me and laid her head, once again, against my shoulder. Within a couple of minutes, I realised that she wasn't hanging on anymore, she'd fallen fast asleep.


	10. Surrender

Surrender

As it turned out, Elle was not a difficult child to please. After waking up in the console room, she had a bout of shyness during which she wouldn't look at me, wouldn't speak to me except to nod or shake her head, and wouldn't let me touch her. I reckoned she'd been so upset when she first arrived that she was willing to trust anyone. Now that she was rested, she was more herself, perhaps a bit more rational, and she was suspicious again. As she should be, I thought.

It was okay. I knew she'd come around if I left her alone for a bit, which I did. I'd found some non-threatening things to put into a sandwich and left it near her, and a couple of electronic games. Sure enough, eventually, I heard the beeping of one of the games, and she ate part of the sandwich. After a while, she began to wander around the console and examine things. I said nothing, except to ask her not to touch anything, and she didn't, but her face never lost that childish wonder. When she'd made it all the way round the controls, she stopped at my side. She reached up fingered the hem of my jacket (I'd changed back into a fresh suit by then), as though she was feeling it for quality assurance. I wondered if she'd never seen polyester before. Well, I couldn't blame her – it _was_ a strange substance.

She looked up at me, finally making eye contact, and smiled. "Stripes!" she said.

While she'd been sleeping and eating and exploring, I'd set a course for her home galaxy and began trying to get in touch with some of the planets, to see if there was an alert out for a lost child. It was rather a long-shot, because Elle was wearing what appeared to be a fully-equipped space travel suit (though I couldn't be sure of that as long as she was still wearing it) and an academy-issue helmet. She wasn't a kid who had just wandered onto a spacecraft and accidentally blasted off – an adult had to have prepared her for it, and then _put_ her in that pod. Said adult was not likely to report her missing.

So I relied upon Elle to tell me.

Over the next few hours, we played "games," mostly designed to get her to tell me stuff. Mostly, it worked. It took a long while because she was more interested in asking questions than answering them (as children tend to be), but eventually we sussed it out. I think that she wound up learning a lot more about me and the TARDIS than I learned about her, but I had to get her home _somehow_. I was aware that if she'd been a few years older, there's no way in hell I would have given her so much information, but being five has its advantages.

She was from Churteen, a relatively small planet on one of the inner rings of the Lirswil galaxy. Churteen had a reputation for being incongruously primitive, probably because it was not located on the outskirts of the system where travel is easier. She didn't know her father, but her mother's name was Tricity, and she'd got into space because her mum had woken her in the night, told her they were playing a game, rushed her into a space suit and put her in the flying pod which eventually malfunctioned and nearly exploded with her in it. Obviously, she had no idea the real reason for her mother's actions, but I resolved to find out.

When we landed on Churteen, it was night. She and I went into one of the deeper, backwater wardrobe rooms and dug and dug until we found clothes small enough for her to wear. They were boys' clothes from planet Earth, circa 1950, but she didn't seem to care. She was just happy not to have to wear the stiff, hot space suit. From then on, she ran around in brown draw-string trousers and a blue plaid "farm boy" shirt, and tiny work boots. She put her own hair in a knot somehow (I was impressed), and we walked out of the TARDIS onto a sandy surface.

Oh, the sand! The sand was ankle-deep to me, and that made it difficult to walk. I was quite glad that I was six feet tall and not three feet, but Elle didn't seem to mind one bit, even though she had to work twice as hard as me in order to get anywhere. I held her hand and she frequently tripped and relied on me to keep her upright, but she didn't want to be carried.

From the looks of things, we were in a desert. There were ten or twelve huts around us, made from reddish-brown twigs and tied together tightly with an organic string. Presiding over the huts was a larger building, also made of the same twigs, but regal-looking, like a temple. Everywhere, there were fire torches sticking up out of the ground to light the way.

"This is the Surrender Gallery," Elle chirped as we looked about. Something about her words sent a chill up my spine.

"What's the Surrender Gallery?" I asked. "What happens here?"

She shrugged and said, "Mm-mm-mm," to the tune of _I don't know,_ but pointedly did not make eye contact with me.

I believed that she had _some _idea of what happens here, and that it was not good.

"How do you know this place?" I asked.

"Mummy brought us here, me and Aldo."

"Aldo?"

"My brother."

"When was that?"

She stopped walking and closed her eyes tightly. "Mmmm," she said, thinking. "Yesterday."

"Yesterday? Are you sure?"

"We came here, then we went home, and I went to sleep. Then mummy woke me up and said to put on to put on my travelling suit…"

"So she brought you and Aldo here, and immediately sent you away from your home planet?"

"Mm-hm."

"Aldo too? Did she send him away?"

She shook her head.

"Where's Aldo now?"

She shrugged and sang the tune of _I don't know_ once again, and seemed to lose her concentration on walking. I absently set her upright again.

"Did he come home with you after you came here?"

She repeated her non-answer.

"Blimey," I muttered, running my hand through my hair. "What the hell is this?"

"Good evening, sir," a voice said. A woman was approaching from my left, and I turned with a start. "Welcome to the Surrender Gallery – thank you for answering the call. You are a good citizen."

"Erm, thanks," I said.

"I am Kali," she informed me with a beatific smile. She was a tall woman, about as tall as me, as a matter of fact. Though it was hard to tell in the sand. She had striking good looks that could only be described as Nubian; rounded, shrouded eyes, sculpted lips and skin like chocolate silk that seemed to glow in the firelight. The way I focused on her couloring, I was reminded of my initial reaction to Martha, though this Kali was a much deeper shade of brown. Her hair was cropped very close to her head, and she wore an orange cotton gown which exposed her shoulders and arms. Her voice was deep and entrancing, womanly, very pleasant to my ears.

But I didn't trust her. Silly old me, being all cautious and stuff.

"And you are?" she asked.

"John Smith," I said. "This is Elle."

"Come," she said, taking my arm, beginning to walk. "We are a bit crowded tonight, but we will be able to accommodate you, of course, your having come all this way."

I didn't say anything, I simply went with her and picked up Elle, whether she liked it or not.

We reached one of the huts, and Kali made a gesture for me to wait. She stuck her head through a thick curtain of long, dried grass and said a few words. Then she motioned for us to go inside. "This is where you will prepare, and await your cue. Gods be with you," she said, just before walking away.

I ducked inside, and found a woman, a man and a little boy about Elle's age. The mother was kneeling before the boy, fussing over his hair, straightening out his garments, sniffling a bit. The boy looked dumbstruck, and the father was pacing about, until we came in.

"Hello," said the man. He seemed forlorn and nervous.

"Hi," I responded, putting Elle down. But she did not move to explore nor to play with the boy. She stayed at my side, clinging to the hem of my jacket. Whatever had happened here before had mightily scared her.

"I'm Parken, this is my wife Lina, our son Jurdon," the man said.

"I'm John Smith, this is Elle," I said. I wasn't sure how to act. A smile didn't seem appropriate, a furrowed brow would reveal too quickly how mistrustful I was, and I wasn't really capable of a neutral expression at the moment. I settled on curling my lips between my teeth and biting down. I waited for someone to tell me what the hell we were doing there, but people seemed to assume I knew.

The man approached me. He whispered, "Her mother isn't around, I see? Well, it's all right. They'll take care of you in the temple. A widower friend of mine told me all about it – they help you… _cope_, even if you aren't able to have more children."

"Cope?" I couldn't help furrowing my brow. I was extremely uncomfortable here, and didn't like anyone or anything I'd met so far.

Suddenly, a noise came from outside the hut. It was the sound of rustling grass, and then of a child crying. Parken and his family all looked at each other, and he said, "It's starting."

I looked outside through the grass curtain, and saw two large men holding a child by the wrists and leading him toward the temple as he wailed. The parents followed behind, comforting one another, and another pair of large men followed them, clearly to keep them from snatching their son and taking off.

Out of nowhere, four large men appeared in front of me. "Move aside," one of them demanded. I stepped back inside the hut, out of his way, and looked at the family of three, now clearly terrified. The mother had her forehead pressed against the boy's, and she was weeping copiously.

"Surrender bay number nine, Jurdon, son of Parken and Lina, this is your cue," the same man said from outside. He did not come in, but expected the family to come out. Jurdon went first, and then his devastated parents. I stuck my head out and watched them go, and the scene was very much the same as the one I had seen a minute before. The area was teeming with groups of guards, but they were all militaristic and occupied, and I thought it was unlikely that they were paying attention to us.

I searched through my pockets and gave Elle the TARDIS key, hanging at the end of a string. "Elle, do you know how to unlock a door using a key?"

She took the key in her cupped hands and nodded uncertainly.

"Run back to the blue box," I told her. "Lock the door when you get inside, and do not come out or open the door for anyone or anything, except for me. Do you understand?"

She looked at me worriedly, her bottom lip protruding and shaking. Her eyes were as wide as saucers and quickly filling with tears. I wanted to melt into a puddle right there. "But I want to stay with you," she begged.

"It's too dangerous," I said. "I don't know where all those kids are going, so it's better if you just stay in the blue box, okay?"

She started to cry, but she nodded. I hugged her and told her she was very brave, and then we went outside the hut. "Run," I whispered. "As fast as you can!"

I could see the TARDIS from where I was standing, in the distance. I watched her go – she fell three times, but she was surprisingly fast. Soon enough, she was there, struggling with the lock, but she got in and shut the door. I sighed heavily. True, the TARDIS was a poor babysitter, but it had to be better than whatever was happening here. I hoped against hope that she was better at staying put than most of the people whom I told to stay inside the TARDIS and not come out.

I saw some of the large men coming back. They were far away, but I had a feeling they were coming for us. I ducked round the other side of the hut, fairly certain that they hadn't seen me.

"Surrender bay number nine, Elle, daughter of John Smith, this is your cue!" I heard. I stayed deadly still. He repeated himself, this time louder. When nothing happened, he instructed his goons, "Go in after them."

As they rustled around inside the hut, finding nothing, I ran. I tripped through the sand, trying to sprint in the direction they seemed to be taking the children, toward the temple. I saw a different group of men taking another child round the right side of the large structure, so I went to the left. On the far side of the temple, there were approximately five hundred people gathered, nearly silently, clearly awaiting something. Against the wall of the temple, there was a platform made of rock, and a pedastal on top of that. I did not like the looks of this at all.

I joined the crowd and tried to make myself inconspicuous (which was not easy in a group of people who were all wearing what looked like tan canvas sacks for clothes). In less than a minute, two of the large men appeared upon the platform before the people, each grasping the arm of a dark-haired girl who looked to be about twelve years old. Everyone knelt and seemed to bow their heads so I followed suit. Except for two people.

"Yadro and Milina, parents of Theandra, please come forward," one of the men said. It was a different one than the one whose voice I'd heard before.

The two people still standing came forward before the platform, and knelt on a raised step, slightly higher than the crowd.

"May the gods look upon you in peace on this night," the man said. "As you make to them the sacrifice of your daughter Theandra."

My chest tightened, and both my hearts stopped for a couple of seconds. I had to fight myself very hard in order not to scream out in protest. I had known this was a possibility, but I'd been praying silently that it wasn't the case. I now fully understood what had happened to Aldo, and why Elle's mum had sent her careening off this planet in a faulty space pod.

The girl wept pitifully as the men picked her up and laid her down on the pedastal, then stepped aside. I could hear her sobs, as well as those of her parents, as we all waited.

Suddenly a large flying creature appeared in the sky over the temple. It circled around and landed right on top of the girl. It was more or less humanoid, full-sized, except obviously, it had wings. But something wasn't right about it. Its flight was stilted, not smooth, and the width and shape of its wings did not seem adequate to keep a being that large airborne.

Mercifully, the creature's body covered the girl as it devoured her. Then it stood, faced the crowd, seemed to hiss, then took flight again, disappearing. The hiss it made was the sound of a compression motor powering up to allow the being to fly, though I suppose to the crowd, it sounded sinister or mysterious. When it was gone, I looked at the corpse of the sacrificed girl. It was as grey as clay, and a trickle of blood seeped from her throat.

Of course. I recognised the mark of this creature. I'd met them before - well, met _one _before. They couldn't fly, but they sure as hell could convince a primitive planet that they were gods, and that they required sacrifice.

I had seen enough.


	11. Kali

Kali

As the girl's body was removed from the area, people began to turn and hug each other, and speak for the first time since the whole debacle began. I suppose it was a buffer, even in a culture where this sort of thing seemed to happen all the time. In the relative commotion, I managed to sneak free of the throng.

The crowd fell silent once more. Another child was brought up onto the platform as I ducked behind the stairs leading up to it. He was only perhaps two or three years old, and did not understand that he was not allowed to move, once laid down. He kept crying and sitting back up and reaching out for his mum and dad. A guard held him down, and it was horrible to watch. I reckoned that once the creature got close enough this time, I could use the sonic to short out its electrical mechanism, which would cause the compression motor to fail, and it would fall to the ground with a thud. With any luck, it would fall upon the platform and cause the maximum scene, and maximum chaos, but I had to be precise about it.

I put my hand inside my jacket pocket for my screwdriver, but was stopped short by a familiar voice. "That's him," it said, and suddenly, I felt myself being grapppled-with by the same large men who had taken Jurdon and come back for Elle. They dragged me round the back of the temple and shoved me up against the wall. They did not restrain me, but I was surrounded, outnumbered, and clearly out-brute-forced.

"John Smith, father of Elle," one of the big boys said. "Where is the child?"

"Sorry, which child is that?"

"The girl Elle," he said impatiently. "She was cued to be surrendered, and you abandoned your surrender bay. This is an offence."

"Oh, sorry… misunderstanding," I said, sounding much more whimsical than I obviously felt. "I gave her up."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, yeah, after you boys left with that other kid, Jurdon, one of the other, er, squads came and cued us out of there. The girl Elle is surrendered."

The guards looked at one another, and had a quiet confab. I watched in helpless horror as another flying humanoid appeared in the sky, and I presumed, devoured the little boy. This, while I stood there and waited for these mindless goons to make up their mind what to do with me.

One of them used his communications device to call a colleague. "Agent E, are you on the runway with the surrenders?"

"Yes," the voice came back.

"Have you got a full barrel?"

There was a pause. "Yes, sir," the other guard said. "Two have been sacrificed and eight are waiting. It is a full barrel."

I thought about this. From where I was, I could see the huts, or the surrender bays, as they were called. I counted ten structures where families would go to prepare their children for death, and to say a final, private goodbye. Ten horrible places that tore people apart and destroyed lives, all for the sake of a carnivorous, gluttonous alien race. I also remembered that Kali had said they were crowded tonight.

However, apparently, this guard in front of me had not made the connection that there had been two children in our hut, and that a "full barrel" of ten kids didn't necessarily mean that I was telling the truth. Thank heaven he was so astonishingly thick.

"All right, John Smith," he said. "You're free to go."

"Thank you," I said, straightening my jacket and tie. They went to the right, I went to the left. Once again, I looked up at the sky and watched in horror as another creature flew away from the temple – it meant that the second child had died. Once again, people began to hug and console each other. I was on the other side of the platform now, and I could see the terrified kids, including Jurdon, being heartlessly herded and managed, kept quiet until they were taken upon the platform.

As I began casting about for resources, ways in which I could free the kids without anyone noticing, I spied a door into the temple, the only entrance I had seen.

"Hello," a voice said. Boy, I had to stop getting so distracted – people where surprising me left and right.

I turned. Kali was standing beside me, had found me hiding behind the temple, out of sight. "Oh," I said, sputtering with surprise. "Hello. I was just…"

"It's all right, there's no need to be ashamed. You're not the only parent who hasn't been able to watch," she said. "Especially if you are solo. I did not see you with your wife before."

"No," I agreed. "You didn't."

"Well, we'll take care of you in the temple anyway," she said, smiling. "We are here for solace, as well as to serve the gods."

Take care of me in the temple? That was the second time someone had said that to me.

"That's really all right, I'd rather find solace on my own," I protested as she took me by the hand and made to walk toward the entrance. I prayed she wouldn't look at the group of children and notice that Elle wasn't there. Of course she didn't listen to me, and mercifully, she didn't notice Elle's absence, so I had no choice but to follow her into the temple, thus, once again, guaranteeing that I wouldn't be allowed to save the next child.

When I got in the temple, I noticed the temperature increased by at least twenty degrees, and I was immediately accosted through the nostrils by an intoxicating scent. I recognised it as burning Erva Grain, a calming herb used as a drug throughout this galaxy. But through the haze of Erva smoke, the sight caused my jaw to drop. Well, almost. I'm a bit more highly evolved than that. But I _was _surprised.

The parents of the two children I'd seen brought upon the platform were there in cubicles, though not behind closed doors, involved in… well, making more children. They had soft mats underneath them, draped with red cloth, and were grunting and grinding away, sweating, and earnestly engaged in one another. Two couples in different parts of the room, mind you, not a foursome.

The temple was where parents went for comfort when their child was sacrificed. The drugs and sex helped them cope with the loss, and also served the purpose of making new children. This way, the Powers that Be, whoever they were, could keep their blood supply coming. The citizens would see it as beautiful, as marking the passing of a life by creating a new one, as celebration of their planet, of fertility. And in a way, I could see that as well, but I also happened to know the real reason behind it, which made me a little sick.

Distracted again. Before I knew what had hit me, Kali had grabbed me by the shoulders and was kissing me hard. I was thrown completely off-balance, and instinctively held onto her as well. She pushed her tongue into my mouth and seemed to try to devour me whole.

I finally found the wherewithal to push away. This was not like snogging Maggie in her father's garden after a banquet. This time, I had at least eight children (although, as a third couple entered the temple, I now knew it was down to seven) waiting to be saved, and another one waiting for me in the TARDIS. I couldn't get involved in this.

"Kali, I can't," I insisted. "I have to go."

Her face grew serious. "Wait. Don't go." She looked about sneakily, then said, "We'll need privacy."

She took my hand and pulled me through a door into a private room and shut it behind her. "I know why you're here," she said.

"You do?" I asked. "How's that?"

"I can always spot a comrade," she said. "You're here because you want to get the children out."

My eyebrows shot up. "I am?"

"Yes! That's why I'm here too! I'm trying to infiltrate the system, work out a way to stop it."

"You are?"

She nodded. "Will you help me?" she asked.

I was so shocked, I couldn't answer right away. "Well, yes. I will," I agreed, finally.

"What do you know about the sacrifices, this surrender operation?"

"I know that those creatures out there killing these children aren't gods," I told her emphatically.

"What are they?"

"They're called Plasmavores, aliens from… hoo, a completely different galaxy. They drink blood and can assimilate the children's biology. But what I'm not sure of is _why_ they're doing it. It can't be just to feed."

Her eyes narrowed. "Plasmavores. How do you know this, John Smith?"

"I've been around," I said, unbelievably glad to have an ally at last. "And my name's not John Smith, I'm called the Doctor. And I've fought a Plasmavore before, but back then, there was only one of them and I had backup."

"You're called the Doctor?"

"Yes."

"Just the Doctor."

"Yep."

"When have you fought a Plasmavore before?"

"Oh, way back in the twenty-first century," I said. "On Earth."

"And what do you mean by backup?"

"I had a friend with me… Martha. It's a lot easier to get the jump on an enemy when you've got help."

"Martha, you say?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

"Yes, Martha," I said, suddenly suspicious. "What of it?"

She opened a trap door at the side of the room, and the space filled with a thin layer of the smoke. I'd felt the effects when we were in the main room, but now the intoxication really started to set in. I felt light-headed, but it felt great, like a release.

"Whoa," I said, sitting down in an armchair nearby. "Lost my bearings."

"It's all right," Kali said. She took a folded white cloth from a basket and placed it on my forehead. I hadn't realised, but I'd been sweating like mad. It _was _bloody hot in there. I wiped my forehead and face, then loosened my tie and undid the top button of my shirt and wiped the front and back of my neck. The cloth was soaked. To my surprise, Kali took it from me, and placed it in a small red glazed pot that she took from a shelf.

"Tell me about this… Martha, is it?"

"Mm," I sighed, leaning my head back. "She was brilliant. She was human, but she worked out who the Plasmavore was before I did. Bloody brilliant."

"And attractive, I presume?"

Again, I sighed. "Beautiful," I said, sliding deeper and deeper under the influence of the smoke, somewhere in the back of my mind, vaguely aware that Kali was drawing something out of me on purpose. I should get the hell out of here. I really, really… rea…eh…

"You wanted to be with her, Doctor? Make love to her?"

I smiled in my delirium. "Oh yes, I would have liked that. She would have liked that."

"But you did not."

My smile turned to a deep frown. "No," I whined. "I could have. But I wasted my chance. Instead…"

A pause. "Instead, what?" she asked.

"Instead, I had my first woman in four hundred years, and she was a total stranger," I said, my words slurring horribly. I now know that she didn't necessarily need me to be coherent, just engaged. "Not someone I loved or even liked, or respected or had a connection with. Just a girl, and a terrible person. And I did it for phosphorous."

"I see," she mused.

"I used my body for… for that! To gain phosphs… phos… phosphorous. And I used her body too, for an agenda. For my pleasure. All that time and I could have had someone great, and excellent and lovely and… but I chose… I chose that bitch."

"You chose that bitch, and not your beautiful Martha," she said.

"Mm," I said.

My eyes were closed, and there was a pause in which I said nothing and she said nothing. Even in my state, this seemed weird – I was afraid she'd left, so I opened my eyes a little. I saw her drinking out of the small red glazed pot where she'd placed that cloth. Very odd…

"Close your eyes, Doctor," she said. And then her voice got closer – she was kneeling in front of me, touching me. "Go into yourself, Time Lord."

A small alarm went off somewhere inside me, but I was too far gone to react. How could she know? Then, I became aware that she was stroking the front of my trousers, and that my body was reacting in kind. My mind began to swirl and go purple, and I saw grape-coloured rivers and psychedelic violet fields. I flew and dipped into lavender pastures, and when the swirling was done, I had an insistent erection that I could feel pushing, straining. I heard the zip go, and I felt her hands on my distended flesh, stroking me.

Finally, she said, "Open your eyes, Doctor." But it wasn't Kali's voice.

I opened my eyes, and Martha – _my_ Martha Jones – was kneeling there between my knees, smiling subtly, and stroking me. I was shocked, and my hearts sped up, but when I opened my mouth and said, "Ma… wha…" she shushed me gently, and I had no choice but to listen.

I watched in amazement as she sat back on her heels, dipped her head down and engulfed my swollen member in her mouth. She sighed with contentment and closed her eyes as if to take in the sensation. She pulled back and forward once again, sliding her lips and tongue over my sensitive skin, giving me an indescribable frisson. When she opened her eyes again, it was more intoxicating than any smoke or heat. Those liquid dark eyes, such cleverness, such love behind them, drawing me in, making me fall. And those gorgeous, rounded lips, so much a part of who she was and what made her beautiful, now an instrument of pleasure to me, tightening and loosening at intervals, slipping down and over me, opening to show her tongue snake out and lick.

She brought me to the brink, the edge of sanity and I was ready to burst. I whispered her name, then again, and even reached down to caress her smooth cheek, to guide her motions, gently give her a rhythm and show her how to make me come. I ran my fingers over her eyes and nose, cheeks, I touched her hair, even the shoulders of the turquoise shirt she was wearing (the same one she'd been wearing in the hospital when we met), and felt the contours of Martha Jones for the first time. Even just those of her face were beautiful to my touch, and her expert movements finally had me. I felt a release, and a gush of liquid filled her mouth. She closed her eyes and sighed as she took it all in, and then swallowed. She sucked until she had everything that I had, and then pulled away from me and licked her lips.

"Martha…" I whispered. "I'm sorry."

She stroked my face. "Don't be sorry," she whispered, her expressive eyes crinkling with emotion. "It's all right."

"I had to do it," I told her. "She was killing her planet."

"I know," she told me. "And I know you'd rather be with me."

"I would," I sighed. "You're so beautiful. How can you love me?"

She smiled. "I just do, silly Time Lord."

"You felt good. Your mouth… "

"Shhh." She placed her hand upon my forehead, easing it back, coaxing my eyes closed. "It was my pleasure."

"And mine…" I sighed, losing myself again.

"Go to sleep," she told me. "Sleep, in satisfaction, knowing that you're inside me now. You're a part of me."

"Mmm," I breathed.

"I love you," she whispered. I felt warmed by this, and drifted…

* * *

I woke up in an armchair. I could see daylight beginning to come through the slats between the twigs that made up the temple walls, and had no idea how long I'd been there.

I remembered the whole thing, Martha's lips on me, drawing me to breaking point, and then cooing me to sleep. I looked down and was only half relieved to find that my trousers were zipped and everything was back in its proper place. Relieved because… well, how undignified to be sitting there for God knows how long with one's John Thomas just hanging out while one sleeps. But nervous because I was now not sure if any of it had been real. Obviously, Martha had been an hallucination, but the act itself, I had been convinced, was real. This was _why_ they bring people in here, to give them comfort and release from their sorrow. I 'd gone in alone, so… wait, what happened?

Something was missing from my memory.

When I opened the door and entered the main part of the temple, there was a group of individuals standing in a circle. In the middle, there was a large cauldron-like container glazed red on the outside, and inside, there was a stew of red cloth churning in water. The people all seemed to be drinking from ladles, sipping, re-dipping, and sipping again.

"Erm," I interrupted. "Perhaps you can help me. I'm looking for Kali."

They all looked at me with fear and confusion. "We don't know any Kali," one of the women said.

"Okay," I said, determined to get out of there alive. "Then, I'll just…" I indicated the exit. They let me leave without incident.

As I left, I noticed that the floors in the cubicles were bare, and the night before, they'd had mats on them, covered with red cloth. A realisation was dawning, but it needed time to incubate.

I headed out into the desert, back to the TARDIS to check on Elle.


	12. Tricity

Tricity

I had no idea how long I'd been sitting in that chair asleep, but it was now daylight, and I didn't actually know how long the days were on this planet. I had given my key to Elle, and she had done as I'd said and locked the door behind her. But it meant that I had to bang on the door of my own TARDIS and wait for a five-year-old to let me in.

After a minute, I heard a tiny voice from inside. "Who's there?"

"It's me," I said. "It's the Doctor. It's okay to open the door now."

There was a pause. Then she asked, "Are the scary people with you?"

"No, I'm alone, I swear."

"Okay," she said. When she opened the door, she opened it just a crack, and a little pair of eyes appeared below, about thigh-high to me.

I waved. "Hello."

She smiled and stepped back, allowing me to enter. I locked the door. "Are you all right?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said, sheepishly, glancing shyly back toward the controls.

There was a pile of clothes on the floor at the base of the stool, some of them were mine from days gone by, some of them had belonged to the throng of folks who had travelled with me, but all of them had been in the wardrobe room I'd shown her just after we landed here. It being the only room in the TARDIS she knew, she'd gone back there for something soft to lay on, and made a little nest here.

"Oh, lovely," said. "You made yourself a bed! So you got some sleep then?"

She nodded.

"Plenty of sleep?"

She nodded again. She was grasping a purple plush bear that Rose had won playing a ring-toss game on a recreation planet on the edge of the Crawlawn. I remembered throwing some of the things Rose had left into that room, and shutting the door, hoping never to have to look at any of it again. I was glad that Elle had found it. It seemed appropriate.

"Did you get something to eat?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"Nah, me neither," I said. "Let's go find some… I don't know, what do you eat for breakfast?"

"Grain gruel with bee's nectar!" she exclaimed, taking my hand and jumping.

"Okay – oatmeal with honey," I said, hoping I had those things. "Let's see what we can find."

I found some Cream of Wheat in the back of a cabinet, and some maple syrup. Elle sat on the counter and told me all about the electronic games she had played in my absence, what really amounted to an advanced Frogger, and how she kept trying to beat her score, and escape from the villainous Marshmallow King who was trying to run her down. I assumed that was all still part of the game, but in my line of work, one can never be sure. When her breakfast was made, it looked positively disgusting to me, but I'd followed the directions on the box, and Elle herself had added the syrup. I got some toast for myself and sat down with her.

She ate heartily – I needn't have worried. Apparently it tasted fine to her. I felt bad for having left her alone all night, but she was still alive and she didn't seem traumatised or miffed at me.

"Elle," I said, after taking a bit of the edge off my hunger. "Would you like to go back to your mum?"

She started playing with her breakfast, and shrugged. That meant "no." She was angry with her mother for sending her away, and she was afraid that if she went home, it would happen again.

"Well, I think you should," I said. "But I think the two of you should let me take you someplace safe. Like to another planet, maybe where they don't have the scary people. Because I think that if the scary people weren't here, your brother would still be here, and your mum would never have put you on that rocket."

She was silent for a long time. Finally, without looking at me, she climbed off her chair and came to my side, standing stiffly about three inches from me. She didn't lean in, but I reached out anyway. She laid her head on my chest, and I sighed heavily. She'd been growing up without a father, apparently, in a world where children were brought to a temple by the people they most trusted, and taken, never, ever to return. I wasn't sure whether the children knew what would happen to them, but it didn't matter – it probably went without saying that her in her home world, there existed a culture of constant fear. Her mother had put her on a rocket in the middle of the night and said goodbye, then the rocket malfunctioned and hurdled her into a fiery crash. I'd rescued her, fed her, clothed her, comforted her, taken her away from the "scary people" and then _come back for her _as I said I would. Not that I'm the world's greatest childcare-giver, but the last day and a half with me _had _to be more pleasant than her life back home, or at least more certain. Laying her head on me was a five-year-old's way of asking, "Why can't I stay?"

"Your mummy misses you, Elle." She sighed. "We'll see, okay?" I said.

But how could it be "we'll see?" I couldn't live the life I live with a child on-board. At the very least, I knew I was going to die soon, regenerate into someone new… how could she trust me after that? Adults I had travelled with had trouble with that – how was a five-year-old going to cope?

But of course, none of that was the point. A child needs to be with her mother. I had to find her, and get them both out of here.

I moved the TARDIS into the city centre, away from that infernal Surrender Gallery. The two of us walked round relatively unnoticed. I was looking for any official-looking or municipal building that might contain records. I knew that Elle's mother was called Tricity, but I wasn't sure if anyone had surnames in this world. Ah well – I'm clever. I reckoned one way or another, with a little bit more information, I'd find her.

Looking across one of the small city squares, I got lucky. Or so I thought. Law & Records, it said.

I entered with Elle by my side and asked if anyone could help me find a particular citizen. As the lady at the desk was accessing files (paper!), someone emerged from a back room, and I wished I'd just stayed in the TARDIS.

"You," he said. It was last night's thug, the thick one who had almost arrested me. He was dressed in a different uniform, I assumed, his day clothes meant for policing. His eyes were pulled downward to my side, and saw Elle. "And her!"

"Elle, run! Go back to the blue box!" I cried out. "Run!"

She made a dash, and I tripped the thug as he tried to get to her (he was bigger and wider than I was – what did you want me to do, talk him to death? Although…). But as soon as she was out the door, she ran smack into another officer, who looked in through the glass doors where she'd come out and saw one of his comrades on the floor. He grabbed Elle roughly by the arm and dragged her back into the building.

"What's going on, Agent Q?" Thug number two said.

"This man is guilty of abandoning a Surrender Bay, and then lying to the constables."

"That is an offence," said the man holding Elle.

"I know," I said, holding my hands out defensively in front of me. "Just let her go, and we can straighten this out."

"I'm not letting her go, she is property of the gods," he told me, annoyed that I could be so stupid. "Bring him."

Thug number one, Agent Q, got up off the floor and pulled my arms behind my back until they hurt. "Walk."

I obeyed, but still I talked (it's what I do). "Fine, fine, I'll go anywhere, lock me up and throw away the key, but let the girl go! I'll offer up something else to the gods. I'll offer up myself!"

"Quiet," Agent Q said. "You will be imprisoned, and she will be surrendered. It is the way."

I went with them up the street – as if I had a choice. Behind me, I could hear Elle crying, and banging her hands against the other man's chest. We were brought into another building, and Agent Q led me to room that seemed to have a long row of small jail cells. There were quite a few empty ones, but all of the prisoners looked docile and simply sad. The lady in the second cell looked up as we came in. Blonde, thin, pretty enough, totally defeated.

"The prisoner is guilty of abandoning a Surrender Bay, and lying to a constable," Agent Q said to yet another officer at a desk. "Register him."

"Already guilty, eh? I don't even get a trial?" I asked.

"Shut up," Agent Q said. "I witnessed your transgression."

I could hear Elle in the next room over, still struggling. The one at the desk nodded his head in the direction of the sound, and asked, "What about the kid?"

"He must be separated from the child," Agent Q said. Then to me, "You may say your goodbyes, and she will be surrendered."

"Please don't do this," I begged. "I'm sure the gods will accept a different kind of sacrifice…"

"Stop talking immediately, or you will lose the privilege of a goodbye," he said. "It is done. Bring in the girl."

The door was opened, Elle ran in crying, and I knelt to her.

And then the lady in the second cell stood up and shouted. "Elle!"

"Mummy!" Elle cried out, forgetting her tears, and pulling away from me. She stood dumbstruck for a few moments, staring at her mother.

The woman started to cry and reach through the bars. "Elle! Come to mummy! How did you get back here?"

Elle stood and stared for a bit longer, and then moved back to me. She hugged me again, and turned her face against my chin so she couldn't see the cell, or her mum.

"Listen, Elle, I'm going to come back for you, just like I always have, all right?" I whispered carefully. "You just be strong, and do what they tell you." This I said loud enough for the guards to hear.

She nodded, sniffling against my chin.

"I'll get you out. You and your mum, both," I whispered again, then I kissed her on the head, and stood up. "Why don't you go say goodbye to mummy?"

"No, that's enough," said Agent Q, jerking her away from me by the arm, and taking Elle unceremoniously outside. She obeyed them, went quietly. I hoped that this did not signify Elle's giving up. Then again, I did tell her to do what they said… that was just so they wouldn't abuse her or anything. I had no idea what went on with children who were detained without their parents.

The lady in the cell was sobbing loudly, hanging her arms through the bars, calling Elle's name. The officers ignored her while they manhandled me into the cell beside her.

Well, mission accomplished. I'd found Elle's mother. _Molto bene_.

It took her several minutes to calm down. She moved backward against the cold stone wall of her cell, and grasped her arms around herself, and sat with her knees pulled up. She looked pitiful, and I wanted to help.

"Tricity," I began, coming toward the wall of bars that we shared.

"How the hell do you know my name?" she snapped. "What were you doing with my daughter, you perv?"

"I'm the Doctor," I said calmly. "I rescued Elle from the burning space pod."

"Burning?" she asked. "Rubbish. The thing was brand new."

"Well, then, it malfunctioned, because it was careening through space, and it was on fire. I saw it with my own eyes."

"So you said, 'hey there's a kiddie on-board, let's bring 'er in, see what she's got!'"

I took a deep breath, trying to remain in the frame of mind that made me want to help her, rather than snap back at her. I certainly didn't like what she was implying, but I knew she was just frustrated and angry. And terrified, probably. I _was_ a strange man who had shown up out of nowhere with her daughter.

"You know it's not like that," I said. "I would have rescued a goat from that pod, or…"

"So what did you do, brainwash her? Why wouldn't she come to me? Why was she hugging _you_ and not me? You're not even… you're not… who the hell are you, and why does she trust _you_ and not _me, _her mother?"

"Well, Tricity, of the two of us, which one launched her into space in a faulty, exploding pod?"

"How dare you! I was trying to…"

"Hey, I understand, I really do. You were trying to protect her. But all she knows is that one of us put her in danger, and the other of us rescued her. So, no, she's not brainwashed, she simply operating as we all do: making decisions based on the information she has. Trouble is, she's a child – she sees in black and white. Later, she will learn reason and grey areas, but not just now. You'll have to earn that."

"Piss off," she hissed at me, putting her hand up beside her head so she wouldn't have to see me.

"Okay. All I'm saying is that I'm here to help you. And as for Elle, you just have to give her some time."

* * *

Tricity cried off and on for the next three hours. She tried to make small talk with me when she wasn't in tears, as though she felt guilty for telling me to piss off. She probably did – she needed a friend. As I had with Elle, I just let her cry when she wanted to cry, speak when she wanted to speak, and didn't push. If I was going to get her out, I needed her to trust me.

But as the sun went down, that all went to hell.


	13. Revelations

Revelations

"Well, well," the voice said. It was a full, soft, womanly voice. "As it turns out, the two of you are in the pen for the same crime. Aiding in the escape of the child, Elle. Except, one of you was daft enough to bring her back."

Tricity looked at me with a strange combination of worry and anger. I had a pretty good idea that she recognised the woman – how could she not?

Kali came to my cell and stood staring at me with a bit of a smirk. Something was missing from my memory after I woke from the haze, yes, but at least I knew not to trust her. Once my head cleared, the last thing I remember about my encounter with her was her telling me she supported the cause releasing the children (which I now knew was a ruse to win my trust), then she drank something odd… and then Martha was there, putting me to sleep in various and sundry ways. Now that was some powerful mysticism – no wonder this lot had such a hold over the people here. I supposed that the kind of mind-fog she had used, which I suspected was all part of the intoxication of the Erva Grains, would have worked fine on a human, but on me… not so much. She'd clouded me, but not erased my memory. And now that she was here, it was all coming back.

"Doctor," she said, smiling. She was carrying a large leather bag over her shoulder. Today, her dress was bright, emerald green with a tropical pattern.

"Kali," I said, expressionlessly.

"Or should I say, _the last of the Time Lords_," she asked. "Once brother, son and father to many, now to none. Ten faces, ten bodies, with the eleventh just around the corner."

"If you like," I said. All right, somehow she'd got into my head. The stuff about the Time Lords could be found in the right history books, but the prophecy predicting my death and next regeneration could not. I wasn't entirely sure how she'd done it, but I supposed that she was here to do it again. Knowledge from me and about me, let's face it, means power. I decided just to see what happened next. Yes, she was going to fog my mind again, probably, but I'd de-fogged once, I could do it again.

I was, however, rather worried as to what she might do to Tricity…

To my surprise, Kali continued with the charade. I thought that if she'd been in my head, she'd know that I was onto her, but apparently, she needed more information for… something. Well, of course. Why else would she be here?

"Doctor, don't be so defensive," she said, her tone changing. "I'm on your side, remember. I want to see you get out of here just as bad as you want to save those kids."

"Mm," I said. "So what are you going to do?"

"Oh, I have certain abilities," she said.

"I think…" I said as she seemed to step right through the bars into my cell. "…I think I knew that."

She smiled. "Yes, you did. But first things first, Doctor." She put the leather bag on the floor and reached inside. I never saw anything specific come out of there – any contraption or device. All I know is that within ten seconds, I was feeling awfully good, and the cell was filled with smoke.

Oh, how undignified of a Time Lord to be stoned. I know that I giggled a little bit here, saying something about how Kali was tickling me (she wasn't), and how she was making me feel all squishy inside (she was). I heard Kali laugh as well, as she took my head in her hands and stroked her beautifully dull fingernails though my hair. Under the best of circumstances, that action turns me into a pile of goo. Under these circumstances, I couldn't stay standing. I felt the concrete wall against my back. I was vaguely aware of Tricity protesting, calling my name, but eventually, her voice was shut out, along with every other rational thought I'd ever had.

"Whoa!" I said, the force of having stumbled backwards knocking the wind out of me just a bit. I closed my eyes and saw stars, and the Erva Grain smoke plunged me into a swirling pool.

"It's okay Doctor," she said. "Just use the wall, you'll be fine."

She had her hands pressed gently against my chest, guiding me back, so as not to injure myself. But just like the night before, her voice changed - it was not her own. When I opened my eyes, a beautiful blonde was looking back at me, but she wasn't just _any_ beautiful blonde – oh no. She was speaking eighteenth century French, and had an enigmatic Mona Lisa-like smile that seemed to suggest she knew more than I did. Her dress was, as I remembered her, composed of layer upon layer of brocade, gold embroidery and jewelling.

"Reinette," I said, but just barely as I exhaled. "You died."

"Not to you, Fireplace Man," she said, smiling slightly, stroking my cheek. "To one who can travel in time, no one ever truly dies."

I smiled giddily. "You called me Fireplace Man," I said. "That's so cute."

"I remember when we danced," she said, sighing. "Do you? You moved so well, better than any other imaginary man I'd ever met, I thought. And we made the King mightily jealous."

"Good," I said. "Never liked that one."

She averted her eyes and smiled again. "And yet, I would have liked to dance more."

I sighed. "Me too."

"Sometimes I regret revealing to you that my childhood fireplace had been brought to Versailles," she confessed, bringing her mouth quite close to my ear. "Then you might never have left me." As she spoke these words, her hand drifted down the front of my jacket and found a rapidly growing bulge below the waist. She moved her hand and wrist against it, forcing it to swell.

"You had the King," I whispered harshly, glad of the sturdy wall holding me upright. Her stroking, the jolt of each movement, was taking my breath away, and my sanity. Well, obviously.

"The King grew tired of me, and I fell ill," she told me. "He hadn't danced with me in years."

I knew this. History had said so. Louis XV and Madame de Pompadour remained very close friends throughout her life, but did not have a sexual relationship during the last ten to fifteen years that she lived. He'd moved on to the younger and more limber, entertaining women in their twenties well into his old age.

And yet, as I looked at her carefully, studied her eyes and lips and hair, listened to her soothing voice and felt her touching me, I could not imagine growing tired of this creature. Humans live such a short time, and yet, in that short time, they use up their toys and tools and toss them aside. I could and would have loved her much longer, much better. I could have shown her things that even the King of France could never…

And she finished my thought for me. "You and I could have danced all we liked, and spun each other into eternity," she said, her voice growing farther away. She was sinking. I looked down at her, now on her knees, and she looked back. "Even if I only had a few years left to live, I would have gladly spent them with you, giving you anything you desired."

I nodded, incapable of speech as she unzipped me. She reached inside and freed my member from such restrictive clothing, and said to me, "Anything." With that, she slid her lips over my length and closed her eyes. I felt her tongue and cheeks sail over, and my head swam even deeper into that whirlpool. Purple blots interrupted the ugly view of the inside of my cell and the beautiful view of the top of Reinette's head.

She tightened her lips and pulled backwards and forwards, and my knees threatened to buckle underneath me. My fingers scrambled for purchase, in vain, against the concrete wall behind me, and my head slammed against it. But I didn't care because my consciousness was not in the moment – it was somewhere a few years before, or perhaps ten thousand years back. It was half-dancing, half-tortured, completely in a tizzy with Reinette. I was suspended somewhere, neither in stasis, nor climaxing. My teeth were clenched, and I must have said her name or cursed or something, I'm not sure…

But she responded, barely missing a beat with her mouth, by asking, "What's wrong, Fireplace Man?"

I shook my head furiously, and said something totally inarticulate.

Again, without breaking her stride, she said, "Help me."

"Go faster," I hissed.

She did, and before I knew what had hit me, something snapped like a coiled band. I let go – I had no choice – and exploded, deluging Reinette's mouth. She moaned, and I opened my eyes rather blindly, and watched her take it all down her throat. She moaned again, licking around the head of my penis, sucking at the last drops, stroking the last remnants out of me.

Quite suddenly, she let go and sat back on her haunches and looked up at me with anger. "You've betrayed me," she insisted. "You lied to me, Doctor!"

"I told you it was just a dream…" I sighed.

"Not that, you prat," she flung at me. "Get out of your own head, for once. I'm not the bloody King's concubine – it's not _all_ about your crotch. Come back to me, pretty boy." She was snapping her fingers hard in my face, causing me to flinch.

"Reinette…"

"Oh, for the love of…" with that, her right arm pulled back and her knuckles landed squarely on my left cheek. In the state I was in, being delivered a situation whereby my head was sandwiched between a fast-moving fist and a concrete wall, it's no wonder I was unconscious within two seconds.

* * *

"Doctor!" I heard, excavating me out of the deep rubble of my sleep. I felt two hands on either side of my face, slapping me, still calling out to me.

When I opened my eyes, I sat up quickly and retreated, once again, against the concrete wall, so as to remove myself from the slapping.

It was Tricity. She'd been reaching through the bars, trying to wake me. "What _the hell_ was that?" she asked.

"You saw?" I asked, suddenly embarrassed.

"Of course I did," she yelled. "It was right there in front of me, in living colour! And still is, by the way."

I looked down and found that unlike this morning, I was not neatly tucked back into my trousers. I nervously remedied this as Tricity averted her eyes.

"If you're trying to convince me that you're not a pervert, I'm thinking that's not the way!" she said.

"Oh God," I whined. "You saw?" Blimey, she'd seen me get drugged and then – _ahem – _serviced by… whom?

"He's not a pervert," Kali's voice said, this time, from outside my cell again. "He's just a man. They're all the same."

She was staring at me with utter contempt, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes practically boiling. For the first time, she looked really dangerous.

"Kali," I said. "How've you been?"

"Oh, shut up," she spat. "You bloody snake in the grass!"

I chuckled. "You can transform yourself into people I know, and pleasure me against my will, and you're callng _me _a snake in the grass?"

"Transform?" Tricity asked, though the question went, for the time being, unanswered.

"Against your will? Please! You've been gagging for a shag for the past… well, your whole tall, skinny, impish, geeky, well-coiffed, suit-wearing life! It's lucky you've got the top of head still attached at the rate you've been repressing. Well, until recently anyway."

"What the hell are you two on about?" Tricity shouted. My goodness, she was loud.

"You know who I am," Kali said. "And you pretended like you were on my side. You're going to pay, Time Lord."

I sighed with tedium. "Sing me a new one, would you?"

"Stupid little man," she hissed at me. "Think you're so clever because you know about Plasmavores. But your knowledge is primitive. You have no idea the power we wield!"

Again with the tedium. How many times had I been called _Time Lord_ with mocking contempt by some random alien who thought they were fially going to avenge their people and make my people pay... or whatever galactic grudge nonsense they'd come up with. Frankly, I was a bit sick of it.

"We are not mere Plasmavores. We are of a much higher order. We can do so much more than assimilate! The twenty-first century was long ago, I'm afraid. Listen and learn, dear traveller."

Ooh, the villain was about to reveal herself! That meant that she either meant to kill me, or let me rot in this cell forever and ever. Whatever got her talking was fine with me. A jail cell I could cope with. A Plasmavore who wasn't a Plasmavore… well, that was a different kettle of fish altogether. I was interested to know, because clearly she was in league with the Plasmavores I'd seen, but she didn't seem to drink blood. She was interested in, well, other bodily fluids, as I had learned rather the hard way...

I shuddered, the more I thought about it. Well, I suppose ten thousand years of evolution can bring strange things. And so I listened.


	14. Maw

Maw

As Kali left, having done her _I'm so evil, you can't even imagine it _speech, I leaned against the bars and watched her go. Tricity stood motionless in the middle of her own cell, hands on hips, mouth open. She was a bit stunned and I could see why.

"What the fuck?" she finally found the wherewithal to ask.

"I know, eh?"

"No, seriously," she said. "What the fuck?"

I sighed. "Oh, Tricity. Your planet is more insane than you ever gave it credit for."

"The Red Carnivorous Maw?" she asked. "Is that, like, a giant… Godzilla thing?"

"No, it's a conglomeration," I answered. "An organisation of sorts, made up of Plasmavores and Somovores. Plasmavores drink blood, Somovores consume… other bodily fluids. Never mind that, how do you know about Godzilla?"

Tricity ignored my question and shuddered.

"What do they do with those _other _fluids?" she asked, a sour look on her face.

"They get in your head," I told her. "Read your thoughts. Why do you think Kali turned on me so quickly after…"

Tricity shuddered again.

"And Kali, she's the governor? Of what?"

"Of this sector of the Maw's empire," I said. "I hadn't realised how wide the scope of this thing was…"

I trailed off, contemplating the vast array of different locales across the universe they had a grasp on, and the insidious manner in which they could take over the cosmos, almost unnoticed. Not just primitive societies like this one, but plenty of others, infinitely more difficult to dupe. Currently, they had their thrall over seventeen planets in ten galaxies, countless species, languages and probably countless ruses. And it was growing! If they could sink their teeth into this planet (as it were), then they would have a base of operations to move out even further, at an exponentially higher rate.

"What do they want?" Tricity asked.

"To feed," I said. "Just… feed. Stay alive."

It was a half-truth. I didn't tell her that Plasmavores assimilate the qualities of those from whom they drink, nor that a planet has a literal physical connection with its primary species, and that given enough time and enough sacrifice of children, the Plasmavores could take over the planet, leaving it open to the rule of the Maw (more so than it already was). I knew that she'd work it out eventually anyway. She was loud and obnoxious and shot from the hip, and I couldn't imagine how Elle was her daughter, but Tricity wasn't stupid.

I sat down on the floor with my knees up in front of me, thinking. I knew there was a way out of this, but I needed time. Trouble was, I wasn't sure how much of it I had. I knew that Kali would be back in seven hours to "extract" from me again, but I had no idea how long before Elle was brought up for sacrifice. My primary motive here was to save Elle and get her and Tricity to safety, whatever that may mean. My secondary motive was to save the planet… fortunately, one usually led to the other. I was fairly certain that I could accomplish it from my cell, but again, I needed some time.

I decided to focus on that seven-hour deadline, until I had more information. It seemed to me that Kali wouldn't miss a sacrifice, even for me, so I guessed that Elle and the other children would be sacrificed _after_ I saw Kali again. Okay – she was my target. But this time, I sort of knew what to expect, so maybe I wouldn't be taken so off-balance. There was no way I could resist the effects of the Erva Grains, but I did have a fairly tight control over my own thoughts…

I examined the events. Back when she'd taken me into the temple, she'd kissed me. It was a pretty good, solid snog, good enough, anyway, to swap a bit of saliva. From that, she was able to discern that I was not a surrendering father, that I was against the operation I could see occurring. Then, she'd pretended to be on my side and taken me into that little room, where it was incredibly hot. By disarming me, she got me to talk about the Plasmavores and Martha, and then she'd wiped my sweat and put the cloth into a red cup, from which she then drank. I assumed that she had mixed the sweat rag with some water, and by drinking it, got a picture of Martha and the fact that I'm a Time Lord. She used that knowledge to manipulate me through the Erva Grains, so that when she went to extract semen, I'd trust her – want her, even. From that extraction, she'd got an image of Reinette somehow, and the phrase, _The Last of the Time Lords_, and probably a whole mess of other delicious tidbits I knew nothing about.

As Kali had been talking about herself and the Red Carnivorous Maw, I'd worked it out. Saliva is a superficial fluid – easily acquired. It's fairly simple to get someone to kiss you, and it's also easy to use someone else's cup or straw or spoon. It allows only for a skimming of the mind, to read the thing that's immediately at the forefront of one's thoughts. Sweat is generally produced as a result of some effort, it is more difficult to acquire from another person, and allows a Somovore to read a bit deeper. Blood and semen – they are very difficult to get, they require some kind of trust or sacrifice. They are the fluids of _existence_, necessary building blocks of life. A person's essence lies therein, and their deepest feelings and memories, their most complicated desires.

And that's how she was going to defeat me, and this planet. Or so she thought.

Her biggest mistake was telling me that she'd be back in seven hours _to find out how I'd beaten the last Plasmavore I met_, so that she'd know how to steer clear of that happening again. Honestly, if she knew the truth, I wouldn't be of any help to her, since there were no Judoon here, and no scanners to confuse. But she'd been grandstanding as the bad guy often does when he or she is overly confident, and as usual, it gave me everything I needed to win. Because as I said, I had no hope of resisting the intoxication, but I did have an awful lot of control over my own thoughts.

The last time Kali had been here she'd gone even deeper, and she'd probably taken with her my mental images of Sarah Jane, Captain Jack, Donna and a lot of others even further back. But if she was a Somovore mind-reader worth her salt, she would know that Rose would be the one to weaken me the fastest. I could be ready for that, if I knew what to expect. I just had to keep my wits about me, even if I was stoned, even if I got all lost and in love again…

It's not Rose. That's all I needed to know.

Well, that, and I needed to convince myself of a lie. Take it and make it my truth.

And so, once again, I had accepted the idea of sexual interaction as a means of saving a planet. As personal sacrifices go, as the Americans say, it didn't suck. Pardon the pun.

Tricity was pacing. At last, she came to my side of her cell and kicked the bars. "I knew it!" she shouted. "I bloody knew it!"

"Calm down, love," I said. "You're going to do yourself some damage."

"I knew it wasn't all about life and procreation and fertility and all that rubbish!"

"What wasn't?"

"That temple," she answered. "They don't take people in there to screw so that they can celebrate the gods and help cope with the loss, and bring new life!"

"How do you know?" I wondered.

She stopped pacing and looked at me, arms crossed crossly. "Because," she sighed. "When my oldest daughter was sacrificed, my husband was already dead. They took me in that temple and… well, someone did to me… basically what Kali just did to you. Over and over again, for hours. It was nice, but sorry to say, can't procreate that way! 'Specially since it was a woman who did it."

I thought about this. She was right. Since she didn't have a husband, they hadn't expected her to become pregnant again, but what they _had_ done was create a frenzy, given her cause to sweat.

I buried my head in my arms. "Ohhh," I groaned. "God, I'm thick."

"What? Not to realise that that's how they're manipulating us, knowing just what to say and do to make us give up our kids? Playing on our beliefs?"

"By getting you lot onto those mats in the temple, giving you… well, sex, and then they use the sweat you produce in a kind of… disgusting brewed stew! I saw them taking ladles full when I left the temple! Oh!" I cried out, pounding my own head.

"Yep," she said. "Wow, did I really work that out before you?"

"Well, my mind is busy right now!" I protested defensively.

She chuckled. "Yeah."

I stood up and started pacing myself. "For the single men and women, they use oral sex, more personal fluids, it's a way to get a little closer. For the couples, they just let them… make new babies to feed the Plasmavores. It's perfect!"

"It's disgusting!"

"And perfect! Don't you see? They've got like a hot and cold running tap of various bodily fluids! Oh, my, these things _have _evolved. Bravo to the Red Carnivorous Maw!"

"Doctor, have you lost your mind?"

"Long ago, yes," I said, stopping to face her. "But I don't mean _bravo, I approve_. I mean, _bravo, they're clever_."

"Ugh," she turned away from me in disgust.

"But not as clever as me," I growled.

She wasn't impressed.

After a beat, I said, "Tricity, let me tell you how I defeated the last Plasmavore I met."

* * *

I told Tricity a story that was complete rubbish, but she didn't need to know that right now. In fact, it helped if she believed it was the truth. Maybe for good measure later, I'd tell her the real story…

She asked another question. "How did the girl die again?"

"A gunshot wound," I said.

"I'm not sure what that means."

"It fires a metal projectile, and if it hits a person, it can tear up their insides."

Tears came to her eyes, and she let out a little grunt. I had told Tricity that the girl who'd died this way was five years old – just like Elle – and that the girl's mother had watched her die horribly, with her stomach cut open while the surgeons attempted to extract the bullet to save her life. She was a mother – of course she was moved to tears. It wasn't a very nice thing to do, but the more she felt it, the more I felt it, and that's exactly what I needed.

She seemed distraught. "And the Plasmavore was the _surgeon_?" she asked, disbelieving.

"In the emergency ward, no less," I added. "Well, think about it; it's perfect. Plenty of fresh blood coming your way, plenty of fresh trauma to make you stronger…"

Tricity shuddered, and well she should. Drinking the blood of a panicking, screaming mother in her most violent fits of grief in order to strengthen one's own ferocity is a fairly horrible thing to do.

I was glad it hadn't actually happened that way.

I also hadn't recruited my good friend Martha Jones to bring up a body from the morgue whose dead blood would subdue the creature, but I threw it in for good measure anyway, and it made Tricity feel better to know that eventually, we'd got the better of the vicious Plasmavore surgeon.

Yep, I certainly could spin a yarn.

A meal was brought to us shortly after I finished telling my fake story, and we ate in silence. After that, we passed the time telling _true _stories. She told me about meeting her husband, having her three kids, even giving up the first two. She had only Elle left now. I asked her about the day when she'd sent her only remaining child away in a rocket ship, and she was all right with talking about it, but she cried a lot. She actually thanked me for saving her (that made a change from before), and said she was glad that I'd got involved in all this. I would have given her a hug, but there was a wall of metal bars between us.

She softened quite a lot over that time. Her vulgarity went away, her defences went down – she allowed herself to become my friend. I didn't give her much choice, mind you, but… well, I guess everyone has a choice.

I told her a few of my own stories, mostly the ones that involved children. She was fascinated by Charlotte Lux, the girl whose father had built her the Library, a virtual planet for her living mind to occupy after her death. She asked a lot of questions that I couldn't answer, in fact. I talked about Jackson Lake's son, Frederic, who had been stolen by Cybermen and taken to a workhouse, thus to be rescued by us and given to the care of the lovely and talented Rosita. She cried when I told the story of how the Reapers had killed the world and trapped a bunch of us in a church as a result of Pete Tyler's untimely non-demise, and she laughed when I described six-year-old Mickey finding nineteen-year-old Rose when he was frightened and needed comforting.

And before we knew that any time had passed, we heard the metal clang of the outer gates. We looked at each other with gravity; Kali was back.

"So, a Time Lord can regenerate," Kali said. It wasn't really a question, more of a wondering.

"Mm," I said.

"I learned that from you, Doctor," she said. "Isn't that cool?"

"Bloody brilliant," I replied flatly.

"Can he also _rejuvenate?_" she asked, staring pointedly at my crotch. "Well, it _has _been seven hours…"

Tricity, having reverted to her loud, vulgar form, said, "Blimey, Doctor, we should have spent this time fixing it so _she_ couldn't have any more of you. A few good jerk-offs, and she'd have to go home disappointed."

Kali chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure you underestimate our friend, here. I'd say he's got enough in him to go around."

"You're very kind," I commented, again, flatly. "And also, creepy. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"

"Numerous times," I said. "And in numerous different ways. In different languages, even. But, if you'll recall, I'm not the one who, seven hours ago, spilled my whole plan."

"Oh, you'll spill plenty, Doctor," she said, one eyebrow raised, taking the dreaded smoky cauldron from her leather bag. "And I don't even need you to say a single word."

She stepped forward and through the bars again, and was in my cell, intoxicating smoke pouring in, clouding my senses. "Here we go," I sighed.

* * *

When Kali was done with me this time, I was more drained emotionally than I had been the last two. Meeting Reinette, and then losing her, had been heartbreaking for me and it had taken me months to stop thinking about it. Martha, of course, had been a huge part of my life for over two years, and some part of me had really, really loved her (even if she'd never know).

But Rose. I'd known what Kali would do, and yet, I still felt somehow like she'd been playing dirty pool by appearing as Rose for our third meeting. That was too easy a way to annihilate me, too simple to hit me where I live, so to speak. Even though, in some ways, she'd given me exactly what I wanted, the visceral artificiality of it was just bloody unfair. She had spoken to me about Bad Wolf Bay, both times when we'd parted there, and how she'd cried for days and days. She said that part of her hated me for not trying harder to come back for her, and then for pawning her off on my "twin." Of course, Kali had only been playing on my darkest fears where Rose was concerned, so those were really things I'd been hating _myself _for.

But the catharsis at the end, it was fantastic – something I'd been needing ever since waking up on Christmas Day in the Sycorax ship. Sure, yeah, I'd had my share of (ahem) catharsis recently, but not looking down at Rose on the receiving end. Fortunately, even though I was pretty far gone, I was more aware than ever that it was a trick, and I was able to keep in mind the horrible story of the girl with the gunshot wound and her mum.

When the smoke cleared, I opened my eyes, and Kali was looking back at me, sitting away from me on her heels. She tucked all of my moving parts back into my clothes where they belonged, and smiled wickedly. For a terrible moment, I wondered if she knew the story was fake.

"Panic and fury," she whispered. "Made the Plasmavore stronger."

I stared back at her, pretending to be horrified that she'd worked it out.

"Agent Q," she shouted. The eminent thug arrived from around the corner and awaited his orders. "Bring the Time Lord. I'll get the mother. It's time to surrender."


	15. Panic

**Okay, I'm not going to deny it: this chapter is a little bit gross. I just want you to know that I realize that!**

* * *

Panic

Kali and Agent Q manhandled us into some sort of vehicle, we were driven somewhere, and then left there for a couple of hours. I tried sonicking the doors, but they were deadlocked. The Red Carnivorous Maw was, indeed, sophisticated. Either that, or Kali had read from me that I carried a sonic device most of the time. But Tricity and I were locked up again. The situation hadn't changed, except now, we were in a van instead of a cell, it was hot, and Tricity wasn't yelling. She was eerily quiet, as a matter of fact.

I decided to use her silence and pondering as an opportunity.

"Tricity, I need to tell you something."

She looked at me blankly.

I continued, "Well, I don't _need _to tell you, but I want to. Think I should."

"What?"

"I lied to you before," I said. "That story about the Plasmavore who was posing as the surgeon, well, it's not true."

She wasn't upset, just confused. "Why would you lie about that?"

"I came up with a story that I knew would be the undoing of the Somovores, something, that if they could read it, would make them try to profit from it, and therefore…" I spread out my hands in a gesture saying, _well, you know._ "Anyway, I figured if I said it out loud, made _you_ believe it, then I could sort of believe it, or at least keep it at the forefront of my mind for when Kali came back."

"Oh. So the surgeon didn't drink from that mother? The wounded girl?"

"No, there was no wounded girl," I said. "And the Plasmavore was posing as a patient, not a surgeon. She drank from the surgeon, as a matter of fact, because these intergalactic military guys were scanning for a non-human. By drinking human blood, she was able to assimilate the DNA and appear human to the military equipment."

"Oh," Tricity said again, this time scrunching her face. "I can see why you had to come up with a better story. Did she get caught?"

"Yeah," I told her. "I tricked her into drinking from me, and I'm not human, so they caught her that way."

"How are you still alive?"

"My friend saved me."

"Martha? Is she real?"

"Very real," I said. "I forgot that I told you about her. She really did work in the hospital, too."

She seemed to think about all this. "So, drinking from a mother who was in grief over her child, that didn't strengthen the Plasmavore?"

"Well, no, because it didn't happen. Besides, they drink the stewed sweat of grieving parents all the time, and it hasn't made them stronger," I said. Then I sighed. "To tell you the truth, Tricity, I'm not sure that the story is going to work. You see, I sort of… _surmised_ that that sort of action would actually overload them, weaken them. But the person they extract from has to be absolutely stricken, screaming, frightened beyond the instinct of self-preservation. The Somovores are empaths, they can pull emotions and thoughts from others – it's what they do. They can read the subtlest things from sweat and saliva and probably tears… think about what a screaming parent would do to them."

"I guess I can see that."

"Trouble is, I don't know for sure. But it's the best weapon I had – the _only _weapon I had."

"Why did you tell me the truth?"

I contemplated. Why did I? I'd known from the moment I began the lie that I would eventually tell her the truth, but why bother?

"I'm not sure," I told her. "I guess I just don't like lying to my friends."

She smiled.

* * *

By the time Tricity and I were marched into the Surrender Gallery, no-one was left. It was chilling. No children, no parents, no guards. It didn't mean no sacrifice, it just meant that the time was near, and everyone had gone to the other side of the temple to witness. Or worship, or whatever they were calling it.

We went round the enormous twig temple by the side which had the one and only entrance. I glanced inside, and could see that there was no-one about. All of the Somovores were occupied with something else – not with readying the temple for grieving parents, not with drinking from the giant sweat cauldron. I could also see that the children were not being held where they usually were, and that scared the hell out of me.

We entered the sacrificial area, I saw why. The ritual had changed.

The spectators' portion was filled with men only, all of them looking confused, some of them looking downright panicked. The women all stood upon an embankment behind them, the ridge that made the area into a kind of amphitheatre. An electrified fence had been built upon the embankment to contain them, and I knew it was electrified because mothers were throwing themselves at it, yelling the names of their children and husbands, and being thrown back by a powerful spark.

Tricity and I were separated; Kali led me in to join the spectators, Tricity was taken up on the hill by Agent Q.

Much to my horror, there were perhaps sixty or seventy children all queued up on the altar. They were of all ages, from toddlers barely able to walk, all the way up to boys and girls just on the cusp of puberty. Some of the older ones were carrying the younger ones, especially the crying ones, and most of them were scanning the crowd nervously.

Right in the middle, standing disturbingly still, was Elle. I could see her eyes moving over the heads of the men, probably, I thought, looking for me. I didn't know whether I wanted her to see me, but she didn't seem to anyway – she just continued to let her eyes roam.

And then, at the sides of the arena, a couple hundred Somovores appeared, though Kali had never left my side. One of them cried out, "Would all of the fathers of the surrendered children please come forward?"

There was a great shift of the crowd as the men murmured and struggled in the tight space to change places. Kali shoved me forward, muttering, "Go ahead, Time Lord. You've taken on this child now – no turning back."

I didn't argue – I went forward and joined the fathers. Behind us was a crowd of worried, though less agitated blokes, not fathers of _these _children, apparently. But the Somovores began to infiltrate the crowd, and soon, every man in the arena had a Somovore partnered with him. Group extraction. Something was about to induce a raging panic, but I'd never known a Plasmavore to be particularly violent, with the tearing and cutting – they just sank their teeth in and drank like a vampire. Could I have been wrong about that? Well, of course, but…

And then the Erva Grains smoke began to float over the crowd. The intoxicating effects sunk in once again, and I rather absently hoped that many exposures to the herb in quick succession would not cause brain damage, because if so, I was in trouble.

Kali was once again kneeling in front of me, stroking me as she had three times before. In fact, all of the Somovores were servicing the all of the men in the crowd the same way. When I looked down at her, she looked like herself, not like anyone else I knew, living or dead. She was Kali, and it was right creepy. I'd rather have had the hallucination...

But then, the surge of swift and driving panic began. On the altar, the children were writhing in pain, screaming, and each of them was being eviscerated by a Plasmavore. They were being torn open, and eaten from the inside, still alive, blood dripping from every surface and splattering the crowd. They were reaching out to their parents, calling out to each other, none of them seemed to die quickly enough – the carnage was horrifying and surreal.

My own suspicious nature gave me pause – I watched with alarm, yes, but I was not crazed. Perhaps I should have been, but I was not. I realised that the Erva Grains' effect was less than before, and indeed, each time, I had been more and more aware that I'd been drugged. I was starting to realise what was happening.

But the fathers were crying out, even those who were not fathers of _these _children. They were weeping, terrified, trying to move, to push forward to rescue the children. Some of them seemed to exhibit a kind of wild-eyed anger, other went to pieces. All of them where hampered by the Grains, and all of them were being held back by the oral servicing of a disturbingly calm Somovore.

Group extraction was a bizarre sight. It made sex rather militaristic, in retrospect.

The mothers on the embankment were behaving very much in the same fashion, but they were not being held back by an extraction. I heard the electrified fence shock over and over again as another mother threw herself against it in a blind obsession to save her broken child. Like the fathers, plenty were pissed off and pushing, and still others had passed out, or were twitching or paralysed.

Interesting the drug's intoxicant effect on different people, different personalities. But hallucinogen within had the same effect on all of them. The violence before them was not real.

Kali, whose mouth was hard at work, though I'd barely noticed, stopped and screamed out to me, "What's wrong with you? Your precious Elle is being eaten alive!"

"Oh, just save it," I yelled back, swatting her away from me. I put myself back together and began to move away from her, and the crowd. I ran to the sides of the amphitheatre, and of course, Kali pursued. But all of her thugs were Somovores, and they were busy. It was just her and me, and if I had to, I could incapacitate her. I was beginning to think I might enjoy that very much, given what she'd put me through… but I'd only do it if I had to. I slipped behind a rock, and began climbing up toward the embankment, concealing myself behind some shrubbery. Kali, for some reason, believed I'd gone the other way and I watched her pursue angrily the wrong direction.

The sound of fury and fear was deafening, and my instinct was to abate the panic, to spread the word that the dying children were a hallucination. But I needed the fathers to believe what they were seeing for the plan to work. I didn't relish watching two hundred men all… well, _purge _at once, but I had no choice but to stand by, wait, and witness. I didn't have to wait long.

The release came in waves, beginning with a few men here and there. I watched as little by little, the fathers let go of their fear, and the screams turned to those of the Somovores. Eventually, all of the Somovores had taken their extraction, as it were, and it was they who were causing the chaos now. Two hundred Somovores were grabbing their heads, writhing in pain, crying out from the overload of emotion. When an empathic being takes a deep fluid from a man in a blinding, shattering panic, the empath overloads, takes on the panic itself and experiences pain. It's like a mic and amp turned up to eleven. A soft, lilting song is a good thing, but scream into it, and the speakers blow, and everyone's head hurts.

Even the mothers were beginning to calm, as on the altar, the smoke dissipated, and we could all see the children. They were running around yelling and screaming, probably also victims of the terrible vision, but they were alive, intact, and the Plasmavores hadn't got them yet. Amusingly, the Plasmavores were milling around with them, trying to catch them, but unable to pin them down in the melee. For some reason, it was maybe twenty Plasmavores to seventy children, and the fathers had no problem fighting them off. They began to carry their kids out of there.

I cheered. I actually jumped up in the air and cried out, "Yes!" Because this had gone exactly as I'd hoped, and the men were acting quickly and being smart and getting out. This was good, because I had no idea how long before the effects upon the Somovores wore off.

I started running back down the way I came, trying to keep my eyes on the altar, keeping Elle in my sight. Kali surprised me by coming out through shrubs and tackling me. She was the last Somovore who was still not felled. She was angry as hell and at that point, probably wanted me dead. I struggled with her a bit, but glad to say, I was actually stronger than she was, and I pushed her against the boulder at the bottom of the hill. I didn't figure it would be neighbourly to punch her in the face (but I really wanted to), so instead I reduced her to the same state as her comrades. The high-pitched pulse of the sonic screwdriver was just enough to overload her in a different way, and that's how I left her. Grabbing her head, bent over, cursing.

"Doctor!" I heard from somewhere behind me.

I turned, and Tricity was running down the hill. When she reached me, I grabbed her hand and we dashed toward the altar. Elle was there, looking the same as when I'd first seen her: crying, two fingers hooked in her mouth. I grabbed her and we ran like hell.

* * *

Tricity and Elle spent the night in the TARDIS with me, though this time, I actually showed them to a spare room, rather than having Elle sleep in a pile of clothes in the console room.

I didn't sleep. The ruse of the Red Carnivorous Maw had been seen, their weakness had been revealed. Even if some people still believed they were gods, the gods had got greedy, and a Reformation had taken place. There was no going back to the way things were. Still, religion is a funny thing, and the Maw was huge. They could convince the people to do penance, and perhaps even to increase their sacrifices. They could send more troops to this planet and put a stranglehold on the people by force, rather than by spiritual manipulation.

In the morning, Elle ate her Cream of Wheat with maple syrup and Tricity and I had coffee and toast. Tricity asked a lot of questions about the TARDIS – how it was possible, what it did, and what I did inside it. I told her the truth. Time and space, travelling, putting out fires, sometimes screwing things up.

"For example," I told her. "I've found a solution to the Red Carnivorous Maw problem. Care to take a ride? Either the universe will be rid of one more menace, or it's doomed."

"Can't wait to find out which," she said, rather sarcastically.

Overnight, I had put out the galactic equivalent of an APB on the planet of the Maw. A distressed call had come from another planet, one under the thrall of the Maw, identifying the planet as Dinavetor. I responded with my thanks, and also the secret to defeating the Somovores, at least temporarily. I also asked them for one more favour: to tell me what other planets, if they knew of any, were in the Maw's power. They gave me nine names. With two down, I could very easily force the Maw into retreat from eleven of their seventeen dictatorships… but why stop at eleven? I'm the Doctor – I never do anything partway.

I materialised the TARDIS in the heart of the Dinevetor Principal Parliament and demanded that the Red Carnivorous Maw retreat from all worlds other than this one, or I would send a message to all fifteen remaining dictatorships (a little fib), telling them how to incapacitate them. A bunch of the usual grandstanding, hemming, hawing, bargaining, threatening and questioning ensued, but in the end, they chose to retreat with dignity rather than be defeated in disgrace. I was surprised that I didn't actually have to send out the message… glad too, since _this _solution helped everyone, not just the first eleven.

Then we rematerialised in Tricity's home. She had asked to come with me, and ordinarily, I might have said yes, especially given my attachment to Elle, but I knew what was upon the horizon for me, and I didn't want to put them through that. My impending death… well, no, best not.

"Besides," I argued, leaning against her mantle. "Someone has to spread the word. Let the people know what you know, that the Maw is retreating, that the Parliament of Dinavetor has agreed to stand down. Someone has to spearhead a new kind of government – I think you'd make an excellent Prime Minister. Show these people what democracy is all about!"

She laughed. "I have no idea what that means."

"It means _the people _choose their leaders, Tricity," I said. "It means no-one sacrifices their children, no mandatory state religion, and no-one's needless death is sanctioned by the government."

"Wow."

"Yeah. But trust me, it works in other parts of the universe," I said. "Though it does take a while to build up momentum. You're equal to it. And when you're too old to go on, you'll have Elle here, to take up the slack!"

We said our goodbyes. Elle's eyes filled with tears as I bent down for a hug. She promised to help out her mum, never go near that temple again, and to be brave. I told her I might see her again – maybe when she's a little older and stronger she can travel with me. By then, I'll look and feel like a different guy, but that's probably a good thing. Who knows?

* * *

I really felt the pang of loss then, and I hadn't expected to. Most of my motivation for the last few days had been about helping Elle, taking care of a tiny person who still needed caring-for. It had awakened memories of fatherhood – not just memories, but also instincts. I'd forgotten what it was to know, without asking, what to do with a child, and to have such a frail little body totally dependent on me. It was almost visceral, the need to keep her safe. I thought I felt that way about all of the folks who get pulled into peril travelling with me, but… a child is different.

But the universe, for some reason, does not like to leave me to my own devices for very long. It was not going to let me brood for more than an hour or two before throwing something new at me.

The last time I'd gone off on the open road, I'd zeroed in on a spacecraft out of control and identified the being inside. This time, mine _was _the spacecraft that went out of control, and I was being identified inside.

I picked up the frequency of the comm system of the planet that had shot out the materialisation mechanism of the TARDIS. "Confirmed humanoid within, Sergeant," a voice said.

"Copy that," came from another voice. "Proceed with retrieval."

I cursed, and braced for a crash.


	16. Power

Power

After coming to a screeching halt (though not the usual kind of screeching), the TARDIS console was smoking. I knew that the materialisation mechanism was remotely disabled by whomever was chasing me, but the smell coming from the smoke told me that it was not permanent damage, that my vessel was just, as they say, blowing off steam. She'd been suppressed and ground down into submission, but she wasn't broken. I patted the console and spoke to her as a voice reached me, speaking from without.

As I had learned over the years, and as humanity is just coming to realise, "highly advanced" does not always mean "highly civilised."

I could tell by the tenor of the voice, the fact that I was in the 95th century and the voice was speaking through a Pomm Frequency Modulator (top-of-the-line for its day), that the being speaking to me was highly advanced. But I suspected from its tone, and from the fact that I'd been previously identified, with some contempt, as _humanoid_, that I was not dealing with anyone particularly civilised.

"The humanoid will exit its craft," the voice said.

I cocked an eyebrow at it. It couldn't see me, but as I said, something in the tone gave me pause. Apparently, though, I didn't act quickly enough, because it repeated itself, this time a bit more urgently. _"The humanoid will exit its craft!"_

"What is this, _The Silence of the Lambs_?" I muttered to myself as I moved toward the door. "It puts the lotion on its skin…" I climbed into my long coat and put out my hand toward the TARDIS door.

Before I could open it myself, however, it wrenched toward me, knocking me in the nose. I winced involuntarily with a guttural "ugh!" and instantly found a hand around my wrist, yanking me outside.

Surrounding me were four beings, seated. Their chairs were hovering approximately three feet off the ground with a crescent-shaped metal bar jutting up from the headrests to help cradle the heads. Each of them had a skin colour variation on purple, and wore a helmet, each with a different official-looking crest. Their eyes were almond-shaped and black; no iris, no pupil, just black. They had no noses (I learned later that they had gills), their mouths were down-turned, like exaggerated, childish frowney faces, and their bodies were bulbous and indulged. They each had between five and eight appendages, tentacles really, and floated there like great big, mean-looking octopi in a tank.

Beside me were two very large men, remarkably, in Roman-style dress. And when I say men, I mean men. They seemed to be human (but then again, so do I), albeit taller and broader than the usual. And when I say Roman-style, I mean the red peacock-like Trojan headdresses, fitted muscled breastplates, leather kilts, boots – the whole kit 'n' caboodle. Their faces were expressionless. They were each training a weapon upon me, but neither of them made eye contact with me, nor said a word.

The technology I was seeing was pretty advanced. The metal bars around their heads were command readers, meant to obey brainwaves and control the hovering chairs' comings and goings. The hovering mechanisms themselves were powered by Volontye Energy, known in other parts of the universe as _will_. Some civilisations had worked out a way to channel will as an energy source, which then functioned as a sort of survival-of-the-fittest mechanism in the industrial arena.

But the attitude I was seeing was positively medieval. It was clear from the set-up that the purple squid guys had the power and the Trojan warriors were servants. Sure, they were lording their size and weapons over me, but, I suspected, only because they'd been ordered to. Their silence and the abjectness of their demeanour (in spite of their position) spoke volumes. Especially to a bloke like me. I'm always on the lookout for some good, quality moral outrage. Go figure, eh?

No-one said anything for an uncomfortably long time; we all just sort of looked at each other. Well, you know me, I can't let a silence hang – I'm a talker, me. So I did what I do best.

"Hello," I said cheerfully. "What's going on, all? Just, what, hanging about?"

"Vax, inspect his vehicle," one of the hovery guys said, completely ignoring me.

"Erm, I'd rather you didn't," I said, stepping slightly aside into the path of one of the other hover chairs now coming toward the TARDIS. "Someone, presumably you lot, has shot out her materialisation mechanism and she's not very happy at the moment. I'm really the only one who ought to go in there just now."

The being, Vax as he was called, looked at one of the Trojans. "Canius, stop being useless and contain your prisoner."

With that, one of the hulks took a step toward me and very smoothly, emotionlessly, delivered a fairly devastating blow to the side of my head with the butt of his weapon. I went down, but I didn't lose consciousness. I really wanted to, because _blimey_ did it hurt, but I knew that if I blacked out, I'd wake up somewhere that I couldn't identify, possibly with all of my possessions stripped. I fought to keep my eyes open and remain awake.

By the time I'd fully shaken off the dizziness, Vax was emerging from the TARDIS.

"Molecular compression science," he said. He was wrong – many "advanced" folks in certain time periods had assumed such in order to explain the _bigger on the inside _phenomenon. Whatever – the more wrong he was, I thought, the better for me and for the TARDIS. "Fairly rudimentary teleportation." Also wrong.

"I see," said one of the others. "And the temporal instability we detected?"

"It's some kind of time propulsion via an oscillating capacitor," Vax reported, wrong again. Did he really think that the Time Rotor contained the equivalent of a time catapult? Wow. Not even a mention of the Vortex? "Gypsy tricks, Sir Jox. "

"Very good," Sir Jox said. "Summon Mulius to take the thing to storage. Canius, you know what to do next."

To my surprise, _the other_ Trojan brute dragged me by the collar to my feet. I'd thought Canius was the other one, the one who'd whacked me. "Walk," he said.

He shoved me a bit too hard, and I stumbled.

Vax, ever the subtle manager, shouted, "We don't have time for these games! Canius!"

The second Canius grabbed me by the hair and shoved his weapon into the small of my back, forcing me unnaturally upright. Then he thumped the backs of my knees with the fronts of his, meant to make me start moving, but it almost knocked me once again off my feet.

Wherever I was being led, it wasn't good.

When we were outside the room, we stepped into a lift. I decided to ask, now we were out of earshot of the squid squad, "Where are you taking me?"

He ignored me.

I was angry and feeling foolish. I got right in front of him and stood on tiptoe to get in his face. "Oi! Trojan boy! _Where are you taking me?"_

He did not answer with words, he simply muscled me to the side, out of his line of vision, sending me into the wall.

"I'm not going to stop talking until I get what I want," I insisted. "Ask anyone who knows me. I can go on forever. I love nothing more than a good long chat, even if I'm the only one gabbing. So go ahead, manhandle me all you want – I might like it!"

He finally turned and looked me in the eye. Were it not for a slight squint, I would say that his stoic emotionlessness was unwavering. But there it was, in that subtle squint: irritation. Before I knew what had hit me, his right hand had shot out and struck me in the throat. Hard. Right in the Adam's Apple. Once again, I found myself on the floor, on my knees. I clutched at my throat and coughed hard. I couldn't help it. My trachea felt like it had collapsed on itself. My vision clouded as my esophagus spasmed and threatened to close, and I gasped for air.

The lift stopped, but the doors did not open. The thug looked at me, the irritation having gone, and I looked back up at him. I was still on the floor hacking and gasping, and once again, he grabbed me by the collar and dragged me to my feet. I doubled over in fits of coughing, as you do, and he yanked me upright by the hair once more.

He looked at me calmly and waited. He wanted me to stop coughing, gasping, making noise. I couldn't. The blow he'd given me had been too much, and now that he was holding my head back, my throat closed even further and I had yet more trouble catching my breath. Now the sounds I was making were more of a crackling, rather than a coughing. Like I was gagging on nothing. Exasperated, he finally pushed me away for a second time into the wall, and with his weapon, pulled my knees out from under me. I toppled to the floor – again! – and sat with my back against the lift panels, continuing to hack.

He left the lift momentarily, closing the door in-between. In his short absence, I tried to massage the outside of my throat, bring the muscles out of spasm. When he returned, it was with another Trojan. This one was a black man, but just as hulking and stony. He had what looked like a white plastic wineskin in his hand. He knelt in front of me, and grasped my cheeks with one hand. For a terrifying moment, I thought he was going to break my jaw. But his ministrations only served to open my mouth involuntarily, and he began to pour water in.

I figured that they were trying to get me to stop coughing, assuming that hydrating the dryness would help. Well, of course, it had nothing to do with dryness, it had to do with having been punched in the throat and having tracheal muscle seizures, but, well… these blokes hadn't exactly taken the Hippocratic Oath, now had they?

Of course, the spasms wouldn't allow the water to go down properly, and I inhaled some, choked horribly and couldn't stop coughing. Even when he held my jaw harder and pressed my head into the wall until I could feel blood clotting and bruise forming. Finally, they were so at the end of their rope with me, they each just grabbed me by the lapel and threw me out of the lift onto a cold, black floor, face down, still gasping for breath.

Just as I was beginning to push myself up on my hands, I was taken violently by the upper arms and tossed into a chair by two brand-new Trojans. A purple hovering squid guy appeared and instructed them, and they began strapping me down. To my horror they wrapped a band around my mouth and pulled tightly. In my state, it was an awful feeling. Coughing, wheezing, hacking, half-drowned, and now my mouth was restrained by a rubber tie – no air to penetrate. To compensate, my chest began accommodating the spasms, and my lungs burned with the strain of air forced down. My head began to feel the pressure as well, and I could feel a dam burst as my nose began to bleed.

Now, my nasal passage was blocked with blood and my mouth was tied shut. Blood was starting to spray everywhere as sickly spurts of air came through my nose, encumbered and compressed. My lungs were straining, my esophagus still spasming and getting worse, and my head was inflating. Oddly, I still wasn't certain whether this was torture by design or blind brutality.

My last thought before finally, _finally_ blacking out was, _wouldn't it be weird if they killed me?_

* * *

Well, they didn't. But for a few moments, I thought they had. I don't always regenerate standing up in my console room with big flashes of light. It's been known to happen much more quietly in the past.

And when I woke, I felt different. "What the hell?" I groaned. My own voice didn't quite register in my ears. My oral and nasal passages were not functioning as usual, my scalp tingled and my chest felt tight. My vision was blurry, and when I finally focused, I was staring at my feet. My toes had pushed through the rubber tips of my trainers, as though my feet had grown longer in short order. I'd never regenerated into such a larger person that I'd Incredible Hulked my clothes before, but as I well knew, there was a first time for everything.

Well, this wasn't how I thought I was going to go out of this life, but so be it. Hopefully this time, I'd look like a leper or have a lazy eye or something.

But examining my suit told me that it was still more or less intact and fit me fine. I looked around. There was a woman sitting near me, watching me. A computer screen was blipping next to her; it appeared to be her work station.

"Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead. Hello, there."

"Hi," I said. She appeared human, and her demeanour was diametrically opposed to the humans I'd met thus far on this particular adventure, so I wasn't sure what to say. "Who are you?" When in doubt, go with your first thought.

"Shepius," she said. "As are you."

"What? I'm the Doctor."

"No, you're not. Shepius. Okay?"

I frowned at her. "If you say so. Listen, can you do something for me?"

"Maybe."

"What do I look like? Can you tell me?"

Now it was her turn to furrow at me. "Er, why?"

"I'm taking a poll. Just tell me, if you would."

"Okay. You're sitting, but you look pretty tall. Thin. Brown hair – sort of a mess, that. Sticks up."

"What else?"

"Erm, brown eyes, sideburns, sort of a pointy nose and lips and chin. Five o'clock shadow," she said. She smiled reluctantly. "You're kind of cute."

Her description sounded familiar, as did her reaction to me, frankly. I examined my hands – they looked familiar as well. The giant band around my torso did not seem familiar, however, and I realised I was strapped to another chair. But, first things first. I decided to assume that I was still number ten, still destined to die by the four knocks.

"Hello?" she said, searching me. I must have drifted off.

"Hm? Oh, hello. I mean thanks." I realised then that my ears were impaired somehow. I checked, but nothing was lodged inside. Something must have damaged my hearing while I was unconscious. I yawned purposefully and shook off the muffled feeling, then shouted, "Hoo-wah! That's better. Hi!"

_That's it, that's my voice. Still the same guy. For now, anyway._

She chuckled sardonically. "Hi. We've been through this already."

"Yeah, but I couldn't hear you properly before. Now I'm all ears. I'm the Doctor."

"Stop saying that, if you know what's good for you. Shepius." With that, she turned mechanically and began working at her computer.

"Come on, we all have a name buried beneath our titles," I said, seeing the irony in my words. "I'm the Doctor, who are you?"

She sighed and looked at me with a bit of annoyance. Finally she whispered, "Allison. But don't call me that."

"Nice to meet you," I said. "Now can you tell me why I'm tied to this chair?"

"Oh, that was just to keep you upright 'til you came to," she said. She reached into a drawer and extracted a pair of laser scissors and handed them to me.

I thanked her and cut myself loose, then handed them back.

I was seated, like her, at a work station. It was clear to me that I was expected to work with her, at whatever it was that she did. I wanted to know…

But then she turned toward me and stood up, crossing the room. She went to a desk at the side of the room which was lined with three more computer terminals. She bent slightly and typed in something, then came back. When she did that, I knew unequivocally that I must be the same man. I'd noticed, of course, upon meeting her that she was pretty. Auburn hair framing her face with just a hint of wave, bright green eyes, v-shaped lips. But now that she was moving, I saw: her skirt was short, her legs were _unbelievable_, and when she bent over, I looked. I groaned at myself, but ever since I'd had this new lease on life (and death), I'd been less of a prude, so I just enjoyed the view until she returned to her desk. Suddenly, _she_ was more important than the work station, which is, perhaps, how it should be anyway.

"So where are you from?" I asked as she went back to work.

"I'm from Earth," she said. "Early twenty-first century."

"Whoa, a long way from home," I commented. "But one of my favourite time-periods. Got some good friends back there. How'd you get here?"

"I had some trouble with some aliens back home, went to Torchwood for help, and apparently, that put me on the map because suddenly I had these purple creatures in my bedroom…"

"Torchwood? In London?"

"Yeah. You know it?"

"I'm familiar with its work."

"Well, anyway, I detected an alien influence in the interfacing network of the agency where I worked and went to them. They helped me, but…"

"This lot, the purple guys, saw you coming," I said, deducing more for myself than for her. "Could detect that technology across time. And they used a catapult of some kind to get you here."

"Yep. You're clever, no wonder they put you in here with me."

"Where is _here_, exactly?" I asked. I looked around the room properly for the first time. It was an office. It was lit with fluorescents, it was windowless and bleak. The walls were painted blue and there were desks, office supplies, paper and chairs everywhere, and five computers. At the back of the room, there were two doors.

"This is the traffic development office," she sighed. "Welcome to Hell."

With that, a bell went off. Allison took her hands away from the computer and turned in her chair. "Come on," she said.

She took my hand, and I followed. She led me to one of the doors I'd noticed at the back of the room. She opened it and took me inside, turned on the light, then closed the door. It was a supply closet, stocked mostly with amenities for the office, but with a couple of empty spaces.

"This is your shelf," she said, indicating one of the tiers. "I cleared it for you when they announced you'd be coming."

I had no idea what she was talking about, or what I was supposed to put on that shelf. But my question was soon answered. I watched in (not unpleasant) disbelief as Allison unbuttoned her white blouse and shed it, folded it and placed it neatly on _her_ shelf. She next did the same with her short black skirt, shoes, followed by her bra and pants. She stood there, unashamed and spectacularly nude in a supply closet and looked at me.

"Your turn," she sighed, nodding toward my shelf. "I'll be back there. Can you turn the light off when you come?" She turned and disappeared behind a row of cabinets.

I stood there astonished for a moment, but I did as she had indicated. Starting with my long overcoat, I shed all of my clothes and folded them, placing them neatly on the shelf. I pulled the chain which switched off the light, waited for my eyes to adjust, and then, guided by a very small blue light which I assumed indicated some type of surveillance equipment in the corner, I went back to where Allison had gone. I saw the outline of her body curled up on the floor against the wall.

I cleared my throat, just to make a noise. She turned and looked at me. "There's a new patch of carpet here." She patted a rectangular area beside her and then turned over on her side once more, away from me.

I lay down beside her on the new patch of carpet, the only thing now between me and a hard, unsanded wooden floor. I thought of pulling it a couple of inches away from her, but she had prepared this, presumably, herself, so I didn't bother.

It felt really odd to lie there naked in the dark in a totally strange environment. After a while, I did as she did, and turned over on my side – it was just more comfortable than lying there all exposed to the air. She was so quiet for so long, I assumed she'd gone off to sleep, but no sooner had the thought occurred to me than I heard her crying.

It was soft but intense weeping – she was crying hard, but trying to stifle. It was heartbreaking to hear.

"Allison," I said softly, even though she'd asked me not to call her that. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she whispered, her voice quivering madly. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you up when it's time."

"I just spent hours asleep. I want to hear what's wrong."

"Nothing. Go to sleep."

I sighed in resignation. "Okay. Is there anything I can do?"

In lieu of an answer, she reached behind her blindly. Her hand landed right on my leg and she groped around for something which I assumed was my hand (and I want credit for that, by the way). I gave it to her. She tugged at it, and pulled my arm around her, and I had no choice but to press up close. She held my hand in both of hers and snuggled it against her face. For the next hour at least, I felt tears copiously falling between my fingers like a warm, silent waterfall.


	17. Memories

MEMORIES

The next day, Allison showed me the operation. We were the Traffic Development Office, and our job was to run the hover chairs. Well, not just to run them, but develop new ways for them to fly, go faster, hover longer, be spectacular. She confessed that it had been she who had come up with the mind-command readers and got rid of the control panel. I was impressed, but she assured me that through her research, she'd learnt the theory of brainwave extraction and physical displacement by telekinetic energy, and from there, it was just a matter of connecting the two and computerising the phenomenon.

I was still impressed.

They had been pleased with the advancement, but it was a bittersweet triumph for her. This was because she (and now we) had been threatened with torture and death if she did not develop advancements at a particular rate, and also because doing a good job meant, according to her, that she was held longer.

I had no problem navigating the computer system, and within a half-hour, I saw three or four ways in which their hover technology could be refined or improved. I was not about to give them any of that, however. Because being me, I had to find a way out.

Immediately, Allison began begging me to stop. I searched for trapdoors, holes in the ceiling, hidden vents, doors with perception filters. Finally, when I began fiddling with the surveillance system (which, I noted, could see us but not hear us), she threw a book at me and began to sob. I could read between the lines. She'd tried something similar when she'd first arrived, and something awful had happened to her.

"Not to me," she said, wiping her tears after I climbed down from the tabletop. "To my partner who was working with me at the time. When she came back, she had a screw in her neck and she could no longer move her head or shoulders properly."

I stopped immediately. My work toward getting us both out of there was going to have to be entirely cerebral. I didn't want to get caught trying to escape, and I didn't want to worry Allison.

I had no idea, ever, whether it was morning, noon or night. I had no idea where we were, what the cycle of the planet was or where the bloody exits were. The powers that be seemed to keep us on a sixteen-hour schedule; eight hours of work, eight hours of rest, then up again. Twice during work, some food just sort of _appeared _in the room, I assumed through an open-ended teleport. I worked barefoot for a few days, and then one morning, a new pair of trainers was waiting for me next to a laundered suit. I checked the pockets – the sonic and psychic paper were still there, the pockets were still bigger on the inside, so it was the same suit, at least. Allison, too, had freshly cleaned clothes, but like me, always wore the same thing.

For the next two nights, Allison cried herself to sleep and she pulled my arm around her the way she had the first night. The two nights after that, she fell asleep just fine, didn't want nor need me. During the day, she did her job, I helped as much as I could, while still searching clandestinely through the computer system to try and work out where the hell I was, or anything about this place that I could use. I didn't tell her what I was doing – didn't want to upset her.

On day three, she finally asked, "So, Doctor, who the hell are you?"

"I'm just a traveller," I said. "A daft old man. Space and time, fixing this and that…"

"Daft old man? What are you, thirty-five? Forty?"

I laughed. "Older than that."

"Well, whatever," she said, looking sideways at me. "I'm glad you're here. I've been alone here for a couple of years. I think."

"Yep," I commiserated. "Me too. Better that way."

"Why so?"

"Oh, I have a _weird_ life," I said. "And it has steamrolled some of the finest people I've ever known, despite my best efforts. And besides, I, personally, wouldn't want to live with me right now."

She smiled. "I don't think it's so bad. I mean, you don't snore."

"Oh, that's good to hear," I told her, rather whimsically. "One can never be too sure."

"No one has complained to you about that, have they?"

"Not very many people have been in a position to," I confessed. "Not since… well." There had been Maggie, but there were many reasons why she didn't count in this conversation.

"Oh," she said pointedly. "Been a while, then. How is that possible? Have you looked in the mirror?"

"I told you. Weird life."

"Yep, mine too."

"What was it like before?"

"My life?" she asked.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "What were you doing before you were brought here?"

"I had been working for Randall Enterprises," she told me.

"Oh, software development," I nodded. "Should've known."

"Yeah, I liked it, too. I'd been there seven years by the time I was taken, and..." she paused, a little forlorn for a second. "Still didn't mind going in every day. No sign of the seven-year itch. And I had a family I was close with, good friends, a boyfriend, a dog, a nice flat..."

I turned in my chair to face her properly, having set the computer on a major upload from an ethernet source that shouldn't even be accessible from a terminal like this… what can I say? I'm _very_ good with machines.

I was processing what she'd said, and something had caught my attention.

"Seven years? Don't you need a master's degree to work there?"

"Yep," she said, with a smug, but cute, smile. "At least. I have a Ph.D."

Against my will, I thought of Martha. In the short time she'd been with me after receiving her M.D., hearing her, and others, call her doctor had been a bit strange. One's ears always perk up when one hears one's name, so I zeroed in on it every single time I heard it. It was awkward, like there wasn't room for the both of us in a room.

But I asked Allison, "Should I be calling _you_ Doctor too, then?"

"No, just…" her face fell. "Allison is fine."

I recalled that the first day when I'd arrived, she wouldn't let me call her Allison, and she wouldn't call me Doctor. Shepius, she insisted, is what we're both called. It was odd, of course, but she'd got so high-strung over it, I hadn't argued too much.

"So, wait a minute. You said you came here after you interacted with Torchwood in London. That must have been 2006 or earlier."

"Yeah, it was 2005."

"And you were brought here right after that?"

She nodded.

"So you'd been with Randall Enterprises since 1998?"

She nodded again.

"And you had your Ph.D. by then?"

She nodded a third time.

"How long have you been _here_?"

"Can't be sure," she said, matter-of-factly. "The days are shorter here, so it's hard to tell. But when I was taken, they let me keep the watch I'd been wearing, and it keeps the date. I think it's been about four years."

"So you must be in your early forties by now."

She laughed. "Oh, I see now, why all the questions."

"Well, sorry, but have _you _looked in the mirror lately?" I asked. I hadn't meant it as a flirtatious comment, but it came out that way. "By my count you'd have to be about forty-one, forty-two years old. There's no way."

"Oh, you're one to talk! But you're right about that, Doctor," she said. "I think I must be about thirty-one now. I know that I was twenty-seven when I was taken, so by _my_ count… thirty-one. I was born 26th February, 1978."

"And you took your doctorate in 1998?"

"I was clever."

"I gathered that."

She sighed. "I grew up on the Osworth Estate, in Peckham," she said. "It's rather tiny. Sits right next to a bigger one – the Powell Estate."

I gulped. I probably don't have to tell you where my thoughts went then. "I know that one."

"I was getting into trouble at school when I was little, mostly because I was bored," she said. "So they began to test me for stuff and basically found that… well…" she hesitated, and looked at me sheepishly.

I smirked at her reluctance. "That you're a genius?"

"Sort of, I guess. I was enrolled at university when I was twelve," she said. "Got a bunch of scholarships from companies that wanted to study me. I had to have a guardian escort, so my grandparents took turns walking me around the campus and taking me to classes. Graduated at sixteen, started working on my doctorate, finished that at twenty." She shrugged and went back to her computer.

"Wow."

"So you, Doctor," she said. "You have very cleverly turned the tables on me. I started out by asking who you are, and you got me to talk about myself. You said something about time and space?"

"Er, yeah," I said as I cleared my throat. "I travel in a kind of…pod. It's a spaceship, and a time machine."

"You know, five years back, I'd have thought you'd lost your mind."

"Oh, that happened long ago," I said, waving her comment away. "But I'm telling the truth about the travelling."

"I believe you," she assured me. "I've been whisked forward thousands of years, who knows how many billions of miles… all things are now possible."

"Under different circumstances, this could be quite the adventure for you," I told her. "If you'd landed here with me, you'd think of it that way, at least I would hope so."

"Yeah? So I'd be trapped somewhere wondering _'The Doctor will get me out! I know he will!_" Then she pressed her hand to her heart and pretended to swoon.

I laughed. "I would, you know."

"Yeah."

"I mean, I will. Get you out."

"Right."

"I always have in the past," I said.

"Rescued yourself and the damsel in distress and still had time for tea?"

"I have never travelled with a damsel in distress," I proclaimed. "I make quite sure never to let that happen. But yes, I usually come through for them, or they come through for me. That's how it works."

"I thought you said you were better off alone."

"These days, maybe," I conceded. "The last friend who travelled with me lost her mind. She sort of… overloaded, and then sort of unravelled. And it was my fault."

"Maybe she just wasn't ready."

"Not that simple," I whispered. Then I sucked in a deep breath through my teeth and added, "And the one before that, I treated her terribly. She fancied me and I knew it, but…"

"Oh, I see," Allison said. "Didn't return the attraction?"

"I did! How could I not? She was brilliant and gorgeous, but I was just too much of a prat to let her know it."

"What? Why?"

"Because I was still stinging from the one before _her._ Also clever, also beautiful, but _she_ got sucked through a dimensional portal and got trapped. Again, my fault."

"Yikes, Doctor. You've got some baggage."

"You have no idea."

"I'm beginning to think I shouldn't be involved with you."

I looked at her sideways. "I've known that all along," I told her. "But what choice do you have?"

"True," she admitted.

We were silent for a while, and then she asked, "So that last one, where in time and space was she from?"

"Well," I chuckled. "Actually, _your_ time and space. Maybe ten years older than you – it was 2008 when she came aboard, and she was about forty then. Not that she'd ever admit to that. But she was a Londoner, early twenty-first century."

"Hunh, interesting. And the one before that?"

"Same. A bit younger – the other two were born in the 1980's, but but they're all Londoners," I said.

"And you?"

"Not a Londoner."

"You sound like one."

"I know," I confessed. "I'm very good with accents."

"Older than you look, and more foreign than you sound," she said, crossing her arms across her chest.

"It's all done with mirrors."

"Okay," she said loudly, holding up her hands in a disarmed fashion. "Clearly, I've hit a wall. Sorry, Doctor, didn't mean to pry."

"Sorry," I said, realising she was right. I felt rather ashamed of how I'd tried to evade her. I'd done that a lot, and it had got me into some trouble. I'd just been talking about my friends, the girls to whom I never could quite give myself, and here I was doing it again.

"It's okay. It's only our third day together. Plenty of time for trips down memory lane later."

We were silent again for a bit, and then an alarm began to sound from the computer in front of me. My first thought was, "Oh no, they worked out what I'd been trying to do on the ethernet!" But upon further inspection, my upload had gone fine, undetected, and my signal had got out.

But Allison knew. "It's a meltdown! Shit!" she cried out.


	18. Dark

DARK

"A meltdown? Of what?"

"Of the power core to the complex! Shit, shit, shit!" Suddenly she was panicking.

"So what does that mean? Why are you so upset?" I asked, watching her pace back and forth like a caged panther.

"Because it means they're going to evacuate us!"

"Good! Maybe then we can escape," I suggested, standing up, looking around. "How do they evacuate us if there are no doors?"

"Transmat," she said. "They beam us out, into _the showers_."

"The showers?"

"Yes!" she screamed at me. She seemed extremely frustrated that I didn't know what she was on about. She clicked her tongue and exhaled hard. "Yes! The showers! They put all of the captives into this big room and blast us with cold water, like from a fire hose! But I don't think it's just water, because every time it happens, about a third of the captives die! Some of them get smashed between the wall and the water, and some of them just drown, but others… when the water gets turned off, they're bleeding out. Now, I'm crap with the physical sciences, but I don't think simple drowning does that. I has to be chemicals. It's like they're weeding out the weak."

I'd seen things like this before. Many advanced though uncivilised planets did this. A glitch in the system happens, and those in charge assume that the servants or underlings are causing it. They gather them up and pretend to be evacuating or cleansing or upgrading or feeding or whatever, but really it's a punishment. It's an example of what happens when the servants step out of line. And also, like Allison said, it weeds out the feeble.

"How many humans, or humanoids, do you think are in this complex?"

"I don't know," she said, her voice quivering. "Based on the last time we were evacuated, I'd say thousands."

"And a third of them will probably die if this continues?"

"Yes," she said.

"Thanks, that's all I need to know."

I threw on my glasses and sat down at the computer. I went through the system quickly, letters, numbers and symbols flashing across the screen, unreadable to very few other than me.

"What are you doing?" Allison asked, frightened. "Doctor, don't mess with it! They'll know!"

"Good," I answered defiantly. "I want them to know!"

"Do you know what will happen if they find out? Doctor, please stop!" She was shouting shrilly, begging.

I turned and looked at her sharply. "You're afraid that if I do something they don't like, that they'll punish you, just to punish me."

"Yes!" she shouted.

"And that's worse than a third of the _thousands _of people in the complex dying, is it?"

Her eyes changed. She hadn't thought of that before. "No," she squeaked. "It isn't."

"Then can you let me do what I do best?"

She whimpered. "Okay."

I quickly found what was causing the meltdown. It seemed to be something genuinely related an accidental glitch in the system, and not a deliberate ploy on the part of those in power to weed out the "weaker" humanoid servants. I'd have to do a major upload of dampening molecules from the ethernet to fix it, but to translate it as software would have taken hours. We didn't have hours. I pulled the sonic from my pocket and did it the quick way. I yanked the screen toward me and pulled the panel off the back, and began to buzz like mad.

"Oh, Jesus, what is that?" Allison whined, plopping her admirable bottom on the desk next to my machine.

"Sonic screwdriver."

She buried her head in her hands. "Oh no," she said. "That's even worse! They're surely going to be monitoring, now that there's a meltdown, and if you're using unauthorised technology…"

"The meltdown is being caused by a glitch," I said. "If an explosion occurs, it will take out the entire complex at least, and… well, I don't know how big this planet is, but there's a chance the whole planet is at stake from the fallout. They don't want it to explode any more than we do!"

"So you think they'll thank you for tampering with the system? You don't _seem_ like a moron, Doctor, but…"

"Just let me work," I said.

"Damn it, Doctor, you're not listening! They don't care about what you did or why you did it! They just care _that_ you did it! Don't you see? You've stepped out of line and now you… I… we all will pay the price!"

"So you want me to let this go? Let the planet perish, let the people die?" I shouted back. "I don't do that! Not ever! I won't let them hurt you, so just leave me alone!"

"Look, I don't care who you were before you came here, some kind of time-travelling hero or whatever. Here, you're nothing! Do you hear me?"

"I know, I'm a prisoner. Wouldn't be the first time."

"No, it's worse than that – you just don't get it! You're bloody livestock! That's what you are!"

The blaring alarm died down. I put the panel back in place, rearranged the monitor, and a message came up in blue letters, "Meltdown averted, return to posts."

I put the sonic back in my pocket and crossed my arms. "Livestock?"

"Yes," she said. "Livestock. That's what humanoids are. It's like back home, anything with four legs that produces something, provides a service – they're livestock. Here, it's the same, but we've all got two legs."

"We're servants, slaves," I said. "I worked that out for myself, thanks."

"No, Doctor," she sniffed. "Slaves have names, and their masters speak to them. Animals just get herded about, all called _horses _or _cattle _or _fowl. _They get used, fed from time to time, and when the time comes, they're put in their sleeping pen. Sound familiar?"

"Hm," I grunted. She was right.

"Did you get pushed into in a chair and your head strapped in before you got dumped in here?"

"Yes, but I didn't stay conscious in it for very long."

"Probably best that way. That thing scans your brain, and it really, really hurts. It's supposed to tell them what you can do, what you're capable of, what use you are to them. You're clearly quite good with technology, so that's why they put you in here with me, to develop their hovering system," she said. "The only thing I've been able to come up with is that those stupid chairs they float around in are the face that they show to the world, or the universe. If their chairs advance in technology every now and then, it makes them look powerful and clever to other civilisations."

"You're probably right," I agreed. I didn't say so, but if they scanned my brain to find out what I was capable of, then stuck me in here, this Traffic Development thing must be _mightily_ important to them. I didn't reckon there were too many others in the complex who could do what I could do, or what Allison could do, for that matter. And other than a public face, why would they care so much about their hover chairs?

"Some of us work," she said. "There is a manual labour unit, and then there are people like us, who do brain work. Some folks are breeders, God help them. Some are guards, some are pets! I presume that there are those who are used as food, but I choose not to think on that."

I shuddered. They must use the slowest humanoids as meat.

"Remember how I said that we're both called Shepius?" she asked me.

I nodded.

"Well, the names that they give the livestock here are based on the names of Earth animals, except they have a Latinate spin for some reason. Anyway, which are the animals who do heavy labour, like lifting and toting? On a farm, I mean."

"Donkeys? Mules?"

"Yes. So all of the lifting and toting guys in the complex are called Mulius. They're usually the strong ones, average intelligence."

"Oh!" I said, having a revelation. "Someone named Mulius took my ship into storage!"

"Mm-hm. And which animals are make good guards?"

"Dogs, canines," I said. "Hence, the guards all named Canius. Big men, single-minded."

"Bingo. And which animals do the brain work? The cleverest animal on the farm?"

"The shepherds," I realised. "The Border Collies and herding dogs who can outsmart the other livestock."

"Nice work, Shepius."

I ran my hand over my face. "Blimey."

"Mm-hm," Allison said. "Welcome to the farm."

She let out a huge sigh, as though she'd been holding her breath for weeks. Her body seemed to crumple a bit, and I moved toward her and pulled her in close. It was nice, and we stayed that way for a while.

After a bit, I said, "You seemed to have calmed down." I kissed the top of her head.

She sniffled against my chest. "Sorry about freaking out and screaming at you. God, for a genius, I'm sure a bleeding dolt sometimes."

"Nah," I said. "Just scared. Who wouldn't be?"

In the chaos, I'd sent out another signal to the ethernet, and Allison and I returned to business as usual, but we didn't say anything for the rest of our work day.

* * *

As the next three days passed, we talked more. She was very curious about Rose, Martha and Donna, so I told her anything she wanted to know, including all the details of their departures, which I'd never really told anyone before. She stopped short of asking personal questions about me, so I suppose I divulged more about the girls than I normally would, out of appreciation.

I asked about her job back home, which she talked about freely, her family, friends, and boyfriend. Seems she'd been dating a bloke named Jacob for two years before coming here.

"A software developper, like you?" I asked.

"No, a network analyst," she answered. "A much less creative and passionate undertaking, as I often reminded him."

I was amused. "Did he work at the same company?"

"Yeah, but on a different floor. We never saw each other at work unless something went wrong with the network in my department."

"Did you try to get him into your department? Maybe get him into a more _creative and passionate undertaking?_"

"Nah. I don't believe in changing a guy. I just liked to tease him."

"Very wise," I said.

I stole a glance at her. She was working away, her eyes firmly planted on the screen, and her upper teeth biting her lower lip, as if deep in thought. After a moment, she caught me, and smiled. "What?"

"Nothing," I lied. Really, I'd been checking to see if talking about Jacob was getting to her. I'm not exactly the greatest emotion-reader in the universe, but I could see no sign that she was bothered by it, that talking about him made her feel her displacement even more, or that she missed him.

Not until later, anyway.

* * *

It was the sixth night, and we'd slept more or less apart for a couple of nights. Side-by-side, of course, and naked (as all livestock were expected to sleep), but not touching. My breathing had equalised, and I was on the verge of sleep. But then I heard heard whimpering again.

It wasn't the intense, tight, long sobs that she had exhibited on the first few nights. It was more of a silvery sound, like shears of breath were coming out of her as though through a sharpener.

I'd been lying on my back, and I looked over and realised through the blue-tinted dark that Allison was, too. Her eyes were shut tight, and her breath was coming in hasty spurts, and I could see tears falling sideways, away from her eyes, onto the carpet. I wondered if I should say anything. The last time she'd cried herself to sleep, she'd simply taken my hand and effectively "asked" for my help, my comfort. If she wasn't asking this time, maybe I should just leave her alone. At the very least, I wanted to learn more about how to live with her and deal with her, and in the morning, either she'd be angry with me, or she wouldn't. If this was a test, I resolved to fail it, just to see what she would do.

But then, I changed my mind. "Allison," I said quietly, so as not to startle her.

It didn't work, I'd startled her.

And the reason why was that I'd looked her over (as I often did) and noticed her hand moving between her legs. I didn't want to interrupt, but I also didn't want her to continue, thinking she was the only one awake. It was something of a moral dilemma, but I didn't give it a lot of thought. I just let her know I was still conscious and could see her.

"Oh!" she shot into the dark, pulling her hand abruptly away. I could hear her panting a little from the adrenaline rush of being surprised… and probably from other things.

"Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you," I whispered. "I just didn't want you to… keep going if…"

She cleared her throat. "Just, you know… trying to get to sleep."

"Sorry," I repeated. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, it's okay," she said. "I'd rather this than to have you just watching me."

"What's keeping you from sleeping?"

She was silent for a long moment, then said, "Jacob."

"Oh," I said. "Miss him?"

"So much," she said. "A lot more than I ever allow myself to acknowledge."

"I know that feeling," I said turning on my side to face her. I rested my head in my hand, leaning on an elbow.

"During work, I can push it all away. But sometimes - less and less often all the time - but sometimes," she began. "I come in here and try to sleep, and I just can't. I think of home – think of him. Can't help it. I'm lying on this cold floor on a piece of rough old carpet like an animal, and I long for my own bed. And my own bed would have Jacob in it. I think of the feel of him, his hands on me, kissing me… and then… I can't sleep. My body won't relax. So…"

"And talking about him with me this afternoon… I'm guessing that didn't help."

"No," she admitted. "It didn't. But I'm not blaming you – this was bound to happen, I was bound to get caught. It's what you do when you're too long alone – you start having to fend for yourself." She started to cry again, the breathy, frustrated kind.

I moved closer to her, close enough to kiss her forehead. I rested my hand on her stomach, hoping she wouldn't object, and I was right.

"Doctor," she whispered. "What if I never get out of here?"

"You will," I whispered back. "I promise."

"How?"

"I don't know yet, but… I've been alive a long time, which means I always find a way."

"I've been here four years and never found a way."

"Yeah, but now you're not alone anymore. You don't always have to _fend for yourself_ now."

"That's not quite what I meant when I used that phrase before."

"I know."

"You're going to get me out of this bind?"

"Yep," I said.

"It's a very tight bind."

I thought of her words and looked down at her in surprise. I found her staring back at me, wide-eyed, the panting had come back. It was a different look in her eyes than I had ever seen.

"Shall I finish what you started?" I asked, very carefully.

She seemed incapable of answering, but her eyes changed shape. They turned down in a pleading expression. I kept mine on hers as I let my fingers crawl further down to where her thighs met each other. I knew I'd interrupted her, so I was not surprised to find her pleasantly slick, with a very distended little bud. I ran one finger over it gently and Allison's eyes slid shut, and her mouth went slack as she exhaled loudly.

I moved the finger in easy circles and her panting grew faster and more intense, as she didn't feel the need to be quiet any longer. I varied the pace and pattern, and she squirmed a little each time I changed. I wanted to put my hands all over the rest of her, taste her skin, feel her nipples between my fingers and squeeze them. I wanted to kiss and lick her neck and whisper things to her. I wanted to make her moan loudly and do things to make her beg me to do more. But I refrained. I forced myself to finish the job I'd volunteered to do, no more, no less. She was grieving somewhat for a past lover, and what she needed was to get to sleep.

And so, as much as I was enjoying myself, I knew it needed to end fast. The longer this went on, the more I played with her, the stronger those urges would get. So I added another finger and began to make the circles smaller and faster. Her breathing got faster and faster and faster, her body jolted, her hands grasped at the sides of the carpet so hard, I thought it would rip.

Finally, she let out a tiny squeak, and I felt a good gush of warmth around my fingers. She was throbbing, but I didn't stop until I felt her come down, until her body was relaxed. She had never opened her eyes.

She lay there, eyes shut, mouth open for a few minutes, catching her breath. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at me. She gave me a tiny smile and said, "You're a very nice man."

I didn't say anything, but just kissed her forehead again, and returned the smile.

"Let me say thank you," she said, and I felt her hand twist around a part of me which had grown very, very hard in the last few minutes.

"No, you don't have to," I told her. I didn't pull her hand away or recoil, exactly, but I was sincere. Not that I didn't want it, but I hadn't done this for her because I expected anything. I'd done it because I thought she needed the sleep, and I wanted her to know that she could depend on me. And yes, I'm not made of stone; I _was_ beginning to like her quite a lot, and fancy the idea of touching her.

"No?" she said, surprised. "Sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure, unless you're dying to. Just go to sleep, it's okay."

She took her hand away and closed her eyes again. She took in a big breath, then let out a big sigh, whispering a barely intelligible, "Thank you."

She was practically asleep before finishing the phrase. She snored softly beside me, and I knew I was alone.

I know what you're thinking now. Stop it. I went to sleep, end of story.


	19. Direction

Direction

Allison thanked me again a couple of times the next day, which I found awkward and weird. I kept waving her off, like I was embarrassed – I'm sure she thought I was. But I wasn't. I just feel it's a bit "transactional" when one person thanks another for a sexual favor. I just wanted her to stop before I gave it too much thought.

Besides, it made me worry that it couldn't happen again.

We received an automatic download of research materials from the ethernet, so I took the opportunity to do another upload and send out a distress signal, burying it beneath the incoming waves. I even ramped it up using the sonic while Allison was in the loo.

But then, I was sitting at the screen, staring blankly, wondering if I should tell Allison what I was doing. It's strange, but even though I knew she'd freak out, I was starting to think of her as a domestic partner, and reckoned she should know about stuff…

But as soon as I opened my mouth, we heard three words booming over the tannoy. "Transmat beam engaged!"

"Oh God," she said, scooting closer to me. She grabbed my arm just in time for us to be transported together from the room, and reappear someplace else.

It was a blank white room with red carpet. A "Canius," a Trojan-style warrior was waiting for us there, just in front of what seemed to be the only door in the room.

"Gax will see you shortly. Shepius will wait."

Allison and I looked at each other, and the guard went through the door. Once again, we were alone. We were to wait.

"I've been in this room once before," she told me. "The one and only time I've ever been out of that office when there wasn't a meltdown."

"Yeah?"

"When the guard came in, he jabbed me with something and knocked me out. When I came to, I was in the broom cupboard, it was morning, time to work."

"What did they do to you?" I asked. I was curious. Perhaps it would tell me something.

"I have no idea," she shrugged. "Didn't hurt me at all, I don't think. Even the jab was fairly mild – it just put me to sleep. I continued work the next day, feeling no different."

I frowned at her. "Weird. How long ago?"

"Three weeks," she answered. "Maybe a month. I don't know – it's hard to tell. I measure time by my watch, but they measure time in sixteen-hour increments, so I'm all confused sometimes…"

I looked around the rotunda-shaped room. Directly behind us, there were three letters on the wall: TDO.

"Traffic Development Office," Allison whispered. "Oh, we're right outside our office space."

"Mm-hm," I agreed. "This must be the external transmat depository."

"Have I been here too long, or did that make sense?"

I smirked at her. Clever, clever.

The guard came back in. "Shepius will follow."

Allison took my arm again and stuck close as Canius led us down a corridor. The hallway was white on both sides, though toward the top, the wall turned clear, turning into a curved-over glass ceiling. I could see out! Oh, sweet Mother of Rassilon, I could see out! Allison looked up and sighed as well, but both of us tried not to let on that we were seeing anything extraordinary.

All around us, I spied a multitude of swirls of light. From Earth, you can see stars. From the planet we were on, we could see thousands of galaxies. About five of the ones we could see from inside, I knew, were extarordinarily old and rich with pressed carbon deposit sprays, phosphorous and some radioactive matierals. These attributes caused them to sparkle brilliantly like disco balls. This was perhaps five per cent of the galaxies in the area.

I could also hear a noise coming through the walls. It was a low groaning sound, along with a high-pitched, annoying drone. They were at intervals, and seemed oddly to create the same middle tone. It was like music theory for automatons. But it was unmistakable.

"Do you lot use Anti-Spatial Defrigidising Pro-Gravitational Air Pumps?" I asked, my voice raised high with surprise.

Canius ignored me. Just as well. He didn't know the answer, and the question was rhetorical anyway. Yes, they did use Anti-Spatial Defrigidising Pro-Gravitational Air Pumps, I knew it – I'm good that way. That meant that this planet did not have a sun, it wasn't part of a solar system, therefore, there was no natural heat nor gravity. The pumps kept the whole complex from freezing, going brittle and breaking apart, not to mention preventing every living thing inside from freezing to death or floating off into space.

_Blimey, I hope they don't fail._

All this criteria could only mean one thing: Seulia Major. That's where we were. I had pinpointed our locale. If we ever made it back to our cell-slash-office, I would send out another signal, and now I would know what information to send. Now we were in business! I felt like the Doctor again! Not that I'd been Captain Kirk before, but you know what I mean.

But then we were led through another door and everything came crashing down.

I couldn't decide whether we were being brought to trial or asked to be parliamentarians. The room looked like a cross between a court and a legislative chamber.

But of course, that's just me being whimsical again. I was fairly certain that if it was one of the two, it was the former. I'd done some pretty sketchy things since coming there, and now I was going to answer for them. I just hoped they wouldn't hold Allison responsible as well. I knew that their policy in the past had been to punish the partner of the transgressor, and that thought terrified me.

There was some kind of judge presiding over the room, and rows and rows of purple guys in floating chairs loomed behind us. Allison and I turned three-hundred-sixty degrees and surveyed the room in shock. I could feel her hands trembling around my arm.

"Shepius!" a voice boomed out. It was the one presiding. "You will face Gax!"

Once again, I pretended to be a lot cooler than I actually felt. I'm good at that. "Okay. Say, who the hell is Gax?"

Allison muttered my name through clenched teeth with a trembling voice.

"Gax is I!" he shouted back. "You will face Gax, and be silent!"

I clasped my hands in front of me and waited for him to speak again. Allison was trying really hard to stand with me, but I fear she couldn't help herself. She stood slightly behind, and wouldn't allow herself to let go of my arm.

"Tell the committee how you averted the meltdown," he demanded.

"Er, I located the glitch in the system that caused it, and repaired it."

"How?" he shouted at me angrily, with all of the finesse of a two-year-old.

"I searched the non-secure data and found three missing lines of code in the anti-fermeture appellation encryption application system, which renders your data ramparts and power grid modalisers incredibly unstable. And I realised that if someone tried to decipher the equation or override the safety protocols, there would be a meltdown pending, which there was. So I just filled in the missing lines of code with some debris from the ethernet, which I converted to digital format by using a Goldweaver Trigger, plugged them into the application system using a Coudre Phisher uploader, and attempted a decipher, which reversed the protocol and averted the meltdown. But I got lucky. You really need to get a man in – fix that glitch. Incidentally, your encryption is also criminally easy to decipher, once inside the network."

None of that had anything whatsoever to do with what I'd done to derail the meltdown. Far as I could tell, there _was _no passkey system sophisticated enough to have any lines of code that could go missing and no one would notice, but that was what was great about being the cleverest bloke in the room most of the time.

Though, for a terrible moment, while the judge-type spoke with a few colleagues, I thought they were going to call my bluff.

The confab on the bench broke up, and Gax addressed Allison. "And you! Shepius! Are you not the Shepius who revised our current mode of hover control?"

"I am," she answered.

There was another confab.

Then he announced, "Shepius, you have wisdom and abilities beyond your years, beyond your species. You are of great use to us."

"Er, which one of us are you talking to now?" I asked.

"Silence! Your value as property is high. There have never been Shepii like you before. Human lifespan is short, however, and we have security to consider, that of our precious planet, the glorius and endless life of Seulius Major. Therefore, you will breed."

"We will what?" Allison shouted. "Not on your life!"

"Shepius will be silent. You will breed, beginning presently. Your offspring will become property of the Seulian Committee. Now go."

* * *

That night, we lay in the azure dark, and I looked over and could see Allison's big eyes, staring wide at the ceiling. I was doing very much the same thing.

"Allison?" I asked.

"Mm?"

"I have to tell you something."

"Okay."

"I might have worked out a way to escape," I whispered. I'm not sure why. After all these days and nights, I was fairly certain no one was listening – only watching.

She was quiet for a few moments, then she exhaled loudly. "Sorry, but I'm not getting my hopes up. I like you a lot, Doctor, you're a clever guy, but sometimes you can be slow on the uptake."

"I know you think it's hopeless, but I've been sending out distress signals."

Again, she was silent, then sighed. "Okay. Whatever."

"Whatever?"

"Yeah."

"Allison, did you hear me? I've been sending out signals and burying them under download codes," I said.

"I heard you."

"And now that I've seen where we are, I can send out more refined signals and more information. We could be rescued."

"All righty."

"Aren't you angry?"

"Should I be?"

Now I was quiet for a few seconds. "No. But the last time I tried to find a way out, you…"

"Freaked out? Yeah, that was before. This is now."

"What's now?"

"Before I was worried that they'd torture me if you did anything wrong. Now, maybe if you cock it up badly enough, they'll kill me. I hope they do."

"What the hell, Allison?" I asked, turning over on my side.

"They want us to breed," she said, her voice cracking.

I sighed. "I know. I was there."

"I can't be responsible for bringing a child into this hell!"

"Then don't," I said.

"You know it's not that simple," she said, finally turning her head to look at me. "You can't be that thick."

"It is that simple. You are a human being with dignity, and they can't take that away from you. If you don't want to add to this madness, then don't."

"My choices are, bring another human being into this heinous system," she said. "Or…"

"Or," I interrupted. "They'll do something semi-terrible to me. But only semi-terrible, because they're going to think that they need most of my systems in working order. So let them try. I'm stronger than I look."

"I'm not," she said, tears in her eyes again.

"Allison," I said. "Whatever it is that you're worried about, don't let it be me."

We slept cosy again. It was comforting to us both. But not to our captors.

* * *

"Shepius! You have not copulated. These actions will not cause you to breed. Rectify your behaviour at once!"

Allison sighed. She looked at me flatly. "Lovely. I'm in the mood now. Want to have a go?" Then, she yawned. It was cute.

I chuckled. "Nothing like a loud tannoy in the morning to get the blood pumping."

We had just sat down at our work stations perhaps five minutes before, when the reprimand began blaring. Thankfully, they played it only once that day, but that was enough, thanks.


	20. Kaboom

**Er, how do I put this? This chapter is a lot of panting and moaning, and hemming and hawing, people fighting their urges and then giving into them, and then changing their minds... but at least there's some quality smut!**

**And I do hope the last few lines make you gasp. Those lines are what this fic is all about.**

* * *

Kaboom

But the day after that, the message played twice. We wondered if they wanted us to stop working right then and, er, begin the process of breeding.

She'd met the first message with the whimsical, sarcasm of a person unbothered. Or rather, of a person who wanted to seem unbothered. The second day, the message seemed to crush her, both times. She spent the next several minutes staring blankly at the screen. It was clear to me that she desperately did not want to follow these particular orders, no matter how scared she was nor how obedient she'd been up until now. But I didn't know what to say to her about it. I'd advised her not to, if she didn't want to, and what more could I say? I ran through lots of different "consoling" phrases in my mind and had rejected them all.

I strongly suspected that her resistance to this directive was derived from the desire not to subject a son or daughter to this environment, and not from a lack of desire to be with me. Call it ego, if you want, but I had precedence for my opinion.

Case in point: a few nights after we'd been told to breed, she confessed coquettishly that she was thinking of Jacob again. She sounded only shy, not really sad, so I reckoned she just wanted… well, you know. Never one to leave a lady lonely (especially not lately), of course, I obliged. This time, she let me kiss her lips and neck and shoulders, and I ventured my fingers further. Although, she had none of the burning intensity as before. It took longer, felt more natural, was much more of a leisure than a driving need.

But then, in a switch from last time, when she was finished, she looked at me and _that's _when the tears came.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," she whimpered. "I thought I could… but I can't. It's too much… too dangerous… I couldn't do that to you…"

I instinctively tried to comfort her, even though it took me a few minutes to realise what she was upset about.

After calming a bit, she said, "I won't ask you to do that again. It's not fair."

She was apologising because she wouldn't be able to return the favour, like before. She thought she could, but she can't, because if she did, then we'd both want to carry it further, and that was what she meant by "dangerous."

"Allison, I'll do whatever you want me to do," I said. "I'll do it again right now, if you want, or I'll leave you alone. Stop worrying."

I hoped she wouldn't ask me to leave her alone. And would _gladly_ have repeated the performance if she'd wanted – I just wanted to touch her. And even if it meant frustration for me, feeling her, listening to her, watching her, making her come was utterly intoxicating. I knew I could get hooked, and/or into serious trouble but I sort of didn't care.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position. "How can you be real?" She smiled.

I sat up along with her and took her face in my hands and kissed her. It was a good, long, hard kiss, and an extraordinarily bad idea. She kissed back with gusto, and opened her mouth to let me in. Our lips and tongues searched for each other madly, almost blindly, and she moved her body closer to me. I crooked one leg and lay the other one around her so she could move closer.

As I said, I was aware even then that this was a very bad idea. Unfortunately, the part of me that had been doing most of my thinking recently, the part that was screaming at me at the moment, hard, swollen, throbbing and insistent with Allison's body an inch away… well, _it _was in the driver's seat. And then suddenly, with no warning, it was engulfed in Allison's hand, its head being explored by her fingers, its shock at being touched shooting through the rest of me like a bolt of lightning. I groaned deeply, honestly, and had to pull my lips away for a second.

Then we resumed, and her hand began expertly pumping me; apparently, she had changed her mind about the danger.

I leaned on one hand, and slid the other between Allison's thighs again. She moaned into my mouth as my fingers and thumb found a pleasing combination of positions. Suddenly, we were both deaf and blind, and lost to a fog. Hands were busy, as were mouths, and the only thing in the whole universe that mattered then, for about five minutes, was pleasure. Pleasure and release.

She pulled her mouth away and looked me dead in the eyes. Her body began to spasm, and I was forced to watch as she gritted her teeth and lay her head back, emitting an intense, high-pitched cry. Watching this, well, it was all over for me then, and Allison soon found her unrelenting hand freckled with fluid. I'd had no choice – she'd made me, and she didn't stop until there was nothing left in me, and neither did I.

She lay her head exhaustedly against my shoulder and mused, "Oh, that was stupid."

"Mm," I answered, the world spinning.

Without looking at me, she got up and searched the supply closet for some tissue. She used it as one does in these situations, then she lay down on her side.

* * *

"I'm sending out another signal," I told her, sitting at the terminal under fluorescent lights once more. "There's someone nearby receiving them, and they're getting closer. But this planet is difficult to find, what with all the galaxies around. From outside this sector, the place looks like chaos."

"Let me see," she said. She came over and leaned over my shoulder with her hand against the desk, and looked at the screen. I showed her the buried signal and how I was doing it. She asked a couple of questions, and I answered them.

Then I said, "I can see down your blouse."

She smiled softly. "I know."

Then she dipped her head down and engulfed my earlobe in her mouth. A frisson shot down my spine, directly to my groin. When she let go, her mouth made a delicious sucking sound.

"Sorry," she whispered, then planted a wet kiss on my neck between my ear and my collar. "Couldn't help myself."

It took me a good hour to retain concentration.

* * *

When the bell rang at the end of the work day, I don't know who we thought we were kidding. We were being surveilled from all sides, it didn't matter how we acted in one room as opposed to the next. But we made a show of being very civilised as we moved from our work stations to the supply closet door, and as soon as the door was shut, we devoured each other. The back of my head hit the door hard as Allison's mouth crashed into mine, and her hands began searching for buttons. I helped by taking off my tie and shrugging off my jacket and shirt. Then she searched for that single button, the one all by itself, just above a zip. She pulled both of those things open, and began stroking slowly. I gulped as she gave me a naughty smile.

I turned her rather roughly (but she didn't seem to mind) so it was _her_ back against the door. I pressed her into it as her hand moved up and down on my member. I unbuttoned her blouse, and kissed every inch that I could find between her mouth and the lace of her bra, and relished in listening to her pant. I'd heard women panting before, but something about _this_ pant was somehow exquisite, like music to me.

Again, rather roughly, I pulled up her skirt and grabbed the sides of her knickers and yanked them as far as her knees. I wasted no time plunging my fingers back in, and Allison's face went lax and her head hit the door as she moaned, this time saying my name with that visceral need, the pleasure that was turning her to jelly. This, in turn, turned me to jelly, and I had to lean in closer, or I would have become a puddle on the floor.

I buried my mouth behind her ear, began licking, moving down. I moaned her name as she flicked her finger over a particularly sensitive spot and nearly sent my eyes reeling back into my head.

She giggled. "Ooh, you liked that."

I could do nothing but groan again, and return the favour with a little trick of my own. Her eyes widened with pleasurable alarm, and she blurted out, "Oh, fuck me!"

I didn't think much of it – I'd heard plenty of Brits use this phrase as an expletive before. But then, quite suddenly, a few seconds later she said, "Doctor! Stop."

I stopped. I took a step back and asked, "What's wrong?" I realised I was panting myself then.

"This is… just… so stupid," she said. "This cannot continue!"

"Why not?" I asked. I tried very hard not to whine, but I'm not sure whether I succeeded. Ridiculous, I know, since I basically knew the answer.

"Because," she said. Staring me straight in the eye, she took my head in her hands and forced me to stare back. Her words were emphatic, clear, even though her jaw was tight and her teeth were clenched. "Because I want you to_ fuck me_. Do you understand?"

I gulped, trying not to pass out. "Yes."

"_Until I can't see_."

"I get it."

"I'm at the point where I don't even want the tenderness or intimacy or all that other rubbish. I'm beyond that. I'm this close to going completely out-of-control, and therein lies the danger. I want it so bad, it's practically coming out of my pores." By now, her voice was trembling. She let go, and I took another step back. "But I can't let you. Oh, dear God, I can't let you! And the more we…"

She seemed to lose her impetus then, and her body went sort of limp with resignation. So I finished the thought for her. "The more we do this, the less strength you have to resist."

She gestured with her hand to let me know I'd hit the nail on the head.

I ran my hand over my face and took the first of many fruitless, intended to be calming, breaths. "Blimey."

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I'm so sorry."

I smiled half-heartedly. "Oi, I was gonna say that."

"It's just that," she sighed again. "This is such an awful place. I couldn't…"

"I know. It's okay. Do you want me to sleep out in the office?"

"No, that's not necessary."

* * *

I didn't sleep in the office, but we also had no more conversation nor interaction of any sort that night. She cried, but she didn't ask for help and I didn't offer any. Allison was dealing with an emotion she'd never considered before, a "motherly" feeling, an instinct to protect one's offspring, even though she had no offspring yet. But she was convinced that, eventually, she'd have no choice, and then there _would _be offspring, and she'd have no means of shielding it from this bondage.

But with all of my internal musings on the topic, all of our conversing, grasping, moaning, I was painfully aware there was something very important that Allison didn't know about me, that perhaps she might like to know. Perhaps she _should _know, under the circumstances. If she knew it, it might help her to let go of her qualms for a bit, long enough to satisfy us both.

But ultimately, I didn't think it would help her feel better, and if I said anything, she might not believe me. I was afraid she would think I was just being manipulative, taking advantage of her deepest fears and desires in order to get what I wanted.

Worse, I was afraid that if I told her, all of that might actually be true. And God help me, I was beginning to care enough about what Allison thought of me, really to fret about these things.

So I resolved to keep that piece of information to myself.

* * *

However, I found that I couldn't keep it to myself for very long.

Because if you've been paying attention the story thus far, you'll have noticed that during this detour between being told I'm going to die, and actually going to my death, I had some things on my mind, some visceral influences clouding my judgment. Most of it was rather less pure than rescuing planets, protecting the innocent and being the noble time-traveller. And I hadn't been the nicest guy lately, especially where matters of carnal desires were concerned. Sleeping beside Allison hadn't been helping, particularly since we had to sleep in the nude.

I had this info, and I was crumbling.

Allison insisted on talking about it during the next day, which, I suppose, is something that women just _do_. I've noticed this over the years, since I've rarely spent much time in the TARDIS without a woman on-board. Especially lately, the girls have become chatty about incidents and feelings and questions that I'd just as soon sweep under the rug. Rose and Donna were like that, though Martha was always too guarded with her feelings, probably afraid she'd say something she couldn't take back. It's puzzling to most men, though; it feels to us as though they have to hash it out for themselves, and sort of don't need us to listen, but they get angry when we don't.

But I'm a good listener, so I let Allison talk, and I talked back when needed, and assured her perhaps eight hundred times that I understood. Almost as often, I had to insist that I hadn't been offended, shocked or lost respect for her when she'd been so, well, _frank_ about what she wanted from me. If anything, it had delighted me (read: made me insane with desire).

"It's fine, Allison," I said, instead of telling her the truth. "I've gone without sex before, I can do it now."

"Stop being so noble, Doctor," she said.

"I'm not being noble, it's really okay, I'm not going to die," I replied. Although, it occurred to me that she _wanted_ me to be frustrated, to show that I did desire her. Wow, it really was like having a girlfriend. So I changed my tack. "I mean, it's hard. It's really, really hard to be that close to you and not be able to… but if it's what you want, if it's important to you, then I can rein it in."

This seemed to make her feel better.

Truth be told, I _was_ being a bit noble. I was _unbelievably _frustrated. I was _not_ happy to do what she wanted – the idea of it drove me mad. I was in the randiest mode of my life, trapped naked every night in tight quarters with a woman who _wanted_ me, and I couldn't have her. Of course it _wasn't_ okay with me…

We managed to "rein it in" that day and night, but after two days, we sort of lost it again. Holding hands in the dark had led to hands in other places in the dark. And as I lay on top of her, kissing her all over, listening to her sigh and moan, she said, "Doctor, promise me this is it. Promise this is all you'll do!"

I promised, even as my body cried out to me to _take her. _I tried to scold myself into retreat. It didn't work. As I said, I was crumbling. I wanted to be a good guy, a good friend, good boyfriend, domestic partner, whatever I was to her. I wanted to respect her wishes. Yes, I had a piece of information that might make it all okay, but that wasn't the point. I'd made the decision not to use it in order to get her to have sex with me. I'd spent my life making a point of doing the right thing. I was still me, damn it.

Well, more or less.

But this detour was not my finest hour, and my time with Allison was the hardest. I was losing control. After days in the light, nights in the dark, and a few experiences of driving, panting, crazed, unfulfilled desire, (_please_ forgive me for this) I wanted to fuck her, and _respecting her wishes_ didn't matter to me anymore.

The fact was: I had a bomb that I could drop, which I was fairly sure would make her spread her legs now and thank me later. True, as I've said, in the long run, it might not be any consolation to her, but I knew it would get me what I wanted, now.

So, kaboom.


	21. Hope

Hope

"Allison, there's something you need to know about me," I said. It was a moment when I should have stopped, looked down into her eyes and made it the watershed revelation that it truly was. But I couldn't. I couldn't have stopped then if a train had hit me. I just kept kissing, touching, rubbing her, growling into her ear.

"What?" she panted.

"I'm not human," I said.

"What?" she cried out, more coherently.

I didn't stop what I was doing. "I'm not human. My home planet is gone… but it's real. I'm alien to you."

"Oh my God," she said. "Are you serious?"

"Oh yes," I promised. "I'm a Time Lord. I have two hearts. I can regenerate if I die. I'm nine hundred years old."

"Doctor, stop it."

That's what finally gave me pause. She didn't really believe me. I held myself up on my hands and said, "Feel." I took her hand and put it against my chest. "Can you feel my heart?"

"Yeah."

I moved her hand to the right, and down. "Feel the other one?"

Her face scrunched into an expression of confusion and amazement. "Blimey!"

She reached up and pulled me back down again and I shoved my tongue into her mouth rather savagely. She groaned, and so did I. We went back to what we were doing, and finally, she said breathlessly, "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because we're not the same species," I answered, my words muffled between her breasts. "It means we can't reproduce."

I found myself moving once again upwards, and my tongue was searching behind her ear. She was going mad beneath me, pushing against me, moaning my name. I'd been rock-hard like a tire iron for what felt like hours now, and it was pressing against her thigh. I was, almost involuntarily, rubbing against her looking for a kind of relief I felt I'd been denied (whether it was true or not).

In the fog, she breathed, "You can't get me pregnant?"

"No," I answered against her ear.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

It was the truth – just so we're clear. What defines and separates _species _is the ability to reproduce. And no human/Time Lord coupling (even the ones I knew of that had lasted for the entire span of the human's life) had ever resulted in a pregnancy.

She whispered directly into my ear, "Do you want me?"

"Oh, yes," I told her, inarticulately. Truth be told, I'm not sure whether I actually said any words there, or whether I just _thought_ them, and grunted something at her.

I felt her legs part underneath me, and suddenly I was poised to make one thrust forward and remove all question. In spite of myself I looked back at her, stunned.

"Now!" she commanded desperately, her voice gone, breath rasping through the air like tearing fabric. "Please!"

I'd finished waiting. One swift move and it was done. Several breathless hours and it was _really_ done.

* * *

I'd lost track of time – now _there's_ something I don't say very often. My head had been just as entrenched in Allison as any other part of me, and when I went to sleep, it was a careless sleep, as though I had no idea that I'd be awakened unceremoniously by a loud bell.

But there it was, the bloody bell. And I was angry with myself; I felt like a right cad. Whether I'd been out for three hours or one hour or five minutes, sleep will clear a clouded mind. Well, so will getting laid properly, if I'm honest.

Allison squeezed my hand and got up, got dressed. I watched her transform from the naked, abandoned, voracious, salacious beauty I'd been with last night into someone who works like a drone in an office. I shouldn't have felt crushed by it, but I did. She exited the supply closet and went, I assumed, to the loo like always. I followed suit.

But when I sat down at my work station, three feet away from her, I looked at her, and she looked back, smiling.

And I was no longer angry with myself. Because I felt something when she smiled at me. It had been a good long while since a smile like that could make my hearts skip a beat (or, technically, two), and it felt right. Perhaps using my literally inhuman knowledge to manipulate her had been wrong, but making love to her had not been. If I told myself then that _the ends justifies the means_, it was not because I'd come out of it with a notch on my bedpost, or because it had yielded great sex or utter satisfaction or some kind of power over her. It was because I had genuine feelings for her, wanted to be closer to her, and the act had sealed a gulf between us. I could be myself with her now, stop pretending to be "just" a friend to her, stop having to sneak glances at her, stop holding back from touching her when I felt like it.

But I won't pretend that heartwarming, squishy feelings were my entire motivation in telling her I wasn't human. If that were the case, then I would have kept it to myself until the morning when we were both a bit more rational. I did feel as though I owed her at least an explanation, if not an apology, but I never really got the chance, because an extraordinary conversation began to occur straight away.

"Are you uploading another signal today?" she asked.

"It's pretty much all I do," I told her. "Want to see?"

"Okay," she said. She came and leaned over me like she had before. She buried one hand in my hair and tugged absently, and I felt hot with both passion and adrenaline. It was exquisite.

I showed her the signal I was using, a different one from yesterday, from a different source, so it would be more difficult to trace. I showed her how the signal was stronger today, which meant that the receivers were getting closer to locating us.

"What happens if they find us?" she asked, sitting on the desk in front of me.

"Depends who it is," I said. "I've been broadcasting on frequencies that I know are used by the Shadow Proclamation and half a dozen other military and policing organizations. Some of them are more stringent than others where humanoid abuse regulations are concerned. But if it's one of the tougher ones, then they'll see the situation here, arrest the purple guys and begin setting the rest of us free and taking everyone home, I suppose."

She crossed her arms and averted her eyes. "Do they have time travel, do you think? Could they get me home, back to my family and my flat and my…"

She looked at me suddenly. She almost said _boyfriend_, and stopped herself.

I wasn't sure how I felt about that, so I ignored it, and answered the question. "I don't know, Allison," I told her. "But I could."

"You could… what?"

"I could get you home. When we get out of here, we'll find my ship and I'll take you home. London, twenty-first century. One of my personal favourites."

She smiled. "That's right, what did you say you were? Something Time… Time Watcher…"

"Time Lord," I said.

"And your planet?"

"Gallifrey," I sighed. "It burned away quite a while back, but once, it was the seat of all time and space."

"Wow. And so now you just… travel? No home, so you never settle down?"

"Well, I never spent that much time at home anyway," I sighed. "Took it for granted that it would always be there. Lucky for me, I'd got used to the TARDIS being my home. That's my ship."

"I see now why you needed… what were their names? Rose, Martha…"

"And Donna. And dozens before them. Nine hundred years is pretty old."

"Yeah. I get it now."

"Do you?" I asked.

"You're lonely."

I nodded, trying not to look sad.

"Because I assume that when your planet burned, so did most of its inhabitants? Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And when you travel with humans, they die before you."

I nodded again.

She sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Doctor."

"It's all right. I manage to find…" I said, suddenly aware of what I was about to say. I smiled. "…companionship."

She smiled back and winked. "Yeah, pretty boy. I bet you've never had any trouble there."

"I haven't always looked like this, or been this… enthusiastic, let's say. I told you last night that I can regenerate if I die, didn't I?"

"Yeah."

"And remember when I first arrived and I asked you to tell me what I look like?"

"Yeah."

"It's because I thought I might have died and regenerated in that mind-scan chair. Every time it happens, I get a new face, new body, new voice, new personality. I look and feel and act different."

"Whoa! I'll bet that's a trip and a half!"

"It's weird, yeah," I shrugged. "There's always a period of adjustment."

"So, a Time Lord from Gallifrey, not human but _humanoid_, can travel in time and space, nine hundred years old, can regenerate into a new man. Have I got it so far?"

"Yeah, you know, there's not going to be a quiz or anything," I said.

"Oh, good," she sighed with mock relief.

"Not until you've travelled with me for at least a year."

Her face lit up. "Really? You'd let me come with you?"

I was hit very hard by her smile, her surprise, her delight. I had to work to swallow a lump in my throat. I didn't answer or even nod. All I had to do was smile, and she was suddenly in my lap, excitedly draped over me, kissing my face and neck. "Thank you!" she kept saying, over and over. "This is amazing! Amazing!" And then, "Oh, I love you!"

She stopped, still sitting in my lap, and looked at me with a bit of fear. "Sorry. I didn't mean…"

"It's okay."

"No, really. I was just excited. Please don't think…"

"Allison, it's okay. Whatever it was, it's fine."

She nodded like a child, and broke eye-contact. Then she asked, sheepishly, "Do you have room for me?"

"If my ship has anything, it's plenty of room."

"Is there a spare bedroom?"

"Is one needed?"

"No, not as far as I'm concerned, but I didn't want to be presumptuous."

"Allison, I think we're a bit beyond presumption."

"Thank heaven for that!" she exclaimed and put her arms around my neck. Then she sighed. "Doctor, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"That I'm not human?"

"Yes! You could have saved us both some frustration!"

"Because," I sighed. "I'm not the sort of bloke who uses unfair powers of persuasion to get women to sleep with me. Well, I try not to be. Well, usually."

"But I _wanted_ to," she assured me. "I would have done sooner if I'd known."

"I know. That's sort of the point."

"Well," she said, kissing me lightly on the lips. "You can stop being a gentleman now."

"Don't say that," I warned. "I can be _very_ improper. I only _sound_ British, as you know."

She laughed. "I'm okay with that. I like you that way."

"Er, yeah, speaking of which…"

"Of what?"

"Of liking me _this way_," I said. I grabbed her hips and pushed her away from me, and she moved to sit down on the desk again. I faced her frankly. "I'm pretty sure I'm going to change soon."

She squinted at me quizzically. Then it dawned on her. "Oh, do you mean regenerate?"

"Yeah."

"How do you know?"

"A prophecy," I said. "There's supposed to be four knocks, and then somehow, I will die. When I wake up, I'll be… I don't know who, I don't know what."

"Oh. How soon?"

"It's hard to say," I said. "It depends how soon I decide to go to the Oodsphere."

"The what?"

"The Oodsphere. It's a thing."

"Well, we'll take our lumps," she said uncertainly.

"Most of the people I've travelled with have eventually adjusted to the new me when it happens," I told her. "But this will be the first time…"

She waited. I thought she would know what I meant, but then again, why should she? "What?" she asked.

"Well, this will be the first time that I'll be regenerating with someone I'm, you know..."

"Shagging?"

"Yes. That."

"Really?" She seemed genuinely surprised.

"Yep," I said. "And that changes the game somewhat. A friend can get used to anything, but a lover is different. I've lived in bodies that look like old men. I've regenerated into a totally grumpy disposition. I've been homely and handsome and everything in between. I've had atrocious fashion sense. I've been short, tall, husky, thin, grey-haired, blond, brunet… never ginger, though."

"It shouldn't matter."

"No, it shouldn't. But it will. You can't help who you're attracted to, Allison. And the new me might not be your cup of tea, or vice versa."

"Oh."

"_Maybe_ we can delay it happening long enough that it really won't matter," I offered. "Maybe by then, you'll be so attached to me, you won't care. Like an old married couple. But odds are, that won't happen. The nature of my life is fast and furious, and this face is probably not long for this world."

"Wow."

"And worse," I confessed. "Before regenerating into this body, I hadn't had a sex drive to speak of in four hundred years. The Time Lords were not exactly the gigolos of the universe, and until recently, I was very much like them. This body has been an anomaly in almost every way – I'll probably revert to form."

"Doctor, you talk too much," she said to me.

"Where have I heard that before?" I asked the ceiling.

"We will take what comes. I want to be with you as much as I can, and if something changes… well, then we'll change with it. If it means we become just friends, then that's what we'll do. It's just like being human. You can be with someone every day, love them, sleep with them, and every day, you risk that they'll be run over by a truck or diagnosed with cancer or horribly disfigured…" she gulped. "Or kidnapped by aliens and taken away as livestock. And you adjust."

She stared wistfully at the floor for a bit. I knew she was thinking of Jacob.

After a minute, I asked, "Having second thoughts?"

"No," she assured me. "Circumstances get in the way, and people move on."

"You think he's found someone by now?"

"It's been four years," she said. "Wouldn't you?"

"I have," I said.

"So have I," she responded. We both smiled. I was glad no-one was there; it was a syrupy sweet moment that would have made an outside observer gag.

The moment was broken by a loud voice over the tannoy. Instead of the usual reprimand, it said, "Shepius! You have done well. Do not cease the initiative you have taken!"

"Oh, that's so hot," Allison said, moving back to her station.

"Yep, they sure know how to take the fun out of things."

"I just hope our sex tape doesn't wind up on the Ethernet. I'd just die."

Breakfast appeared in our office then. Usually, it was some kind of super-sweetened oatmeal or grits or shredded slop, with a cup of water, and every other day, a piece of dried meat the size of a Reese's peanut butter cup. Today, we were being rewarded. We had warm bread, some sort of buttered cream, fruit, nuts and coffee.

Our quality of life had vastly improved in the last eight hours.

* * *

I realised at some point over the next week that there were, in fact, several receivers of the distress signal I'd been sending out, but as time went on, it was narrowing down to one. I was pleased, but not jumping for joy as you might expect. Sure, I wanted out of there – the Doctor in stasis for long periods is not an agreeable scenario from any direction. But I'd got used to being there, was settling into a routine, was enjoying the company, knew how to avert a population-weeding meltdown, and there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

And well, I'm sure you can read between the lines. I said I was enjoying the company, which also includes the leisure activities that came with it. And because our captors wanted us to breed, we were allowed more "down-time," from then on. If we got up late, it was all right, as long as we were engaged in activities that furthered the cause. If we went to our closet a bit early because we were so inspired to reproduce, they didn't mind. If we both disappeared into the toilet cubicle, out of sight of the cameras, well, no-one reprimanded us. If we lost ourselves right on the office chair or had some random muse telling us to test the strength of the computer desks, it was just part of the territory. I was actually _smitten_ with Allison, not hating the sex, and when you're in a new relationship, you can handle just about anything. There is no other feeling like it, nothing in the universe quite gives you the confidence or strength to endure. Yep, there were definitely worse ways to be in captivity. And the best part was: it could continue indefinitely if need be. Allison would never get pregnant, and the purple guys would continue to think we were doing them a favour. We'd be well-fed and satisfied. And I? I'd get to live a bit longer. The four knocks would wait.

When the signal finally came back clearly, it was buried beneath seventeen layers of downloadable research material and billions of lines of code. This was smart. The Seulians were more likely to flag incoming signals rather than outgoing. It would have taken a "normal" operator several weeks even to work out that there was a message buried there. But, well, I don't like to brag, but it took me an hour. And another hour with the sonic to actually unravel it.

It was the Nerge Terebe Militia Squad, the genetically-engineered military fleet of the planet (go figure) Nerge Terebe. More importantly, they were a team of hired guns (usually good guys) sometimes contracted by the Shadow Proclamation when things got out of their depth. The NTMS had a universal reputation for extraordinary finesse. This would explain why the signal had dwindled to one receiver. They knew that if the signal scattered, it would be more detectable, and they had called all other organizations off from interfering. I guessed, as well, that they _had_ indeed been hired by the Shadow Proclamation, and hadn't simply jumped into this on their own. I had identified myself in my transmissions, and the Shadow Proclamation, in spite of their issues, did understand the implications of my asking for help.

I told Allison that we'd been identified and found, and that we'd received a message. All it said was that our locale had been identified, and the troops were gathering for intervention, but the utmost of care would be taken. That meant that it would be a while, since they would be bent on rescuing everyone and unraveling the livestock trade they had going here. Storming the breach with guns a-blazin' without proper prep-work was not the style of this particular squadron.

"I'm just happy to know there's hope," she said.

"There's always hope, Allison," I told her. "You just have to know where to look."

She smiled at me. "I know where to look now."

* * *

The following week passed, on the surface, much as the last had. But underneath, other things were happening. Time together is time to incubate, and my relationship with Allison was advancing at the speed of light. As you can imagine, we found fun ways to celebrate the good news of the NTMS coming for us soon. We made plans for our first adventures together both inside and outside of the TARDIS, and Allison, bless her, told me she loved me. I could not net return the sentiment, even if I wanted to. She understood, and did not ask me to. She said she was content just to feel it, and to have me know it.

At the end of that week, rescue was nigh, but the timing was unbelievably cruel.


	22. Loss

**Okay, kids. This chapter is BRUTAL. You've been warned.**

* * *

Loss

Nine hundred years is, indeed, a long time. It's not a particularly long life for a Time Lord in his Tenth body, but most of my time, let's face it, has been spent in the company of humans, not Time Lords. From their perspective, it's impossibly long. Forty-five generations pass reasonably in that time. History becomes legend, civilisations are born and die.

In my years, I've seen happiness and tragedy beyond measure, joy and heartbreak that nearly killed me. At my age, I'd never be presumptuous enough to pinpoint one day as the best or worst of my life, but rather, each regeneration has a best and a worst, and it's not always the death or the rebirth that makes the cut. Not my own, anyway.

I'm about to tell you the story of the worst day of my Tenth life.

It was two weeks into my adventures in not-breeding with Allison. Our "romance" was fourteen days old when I received the message, late in the day, that the Nerge Terebe Militia Squad would be sending in its elite forces the following day. I was not to take any action until specifically prompted by the Squad. There were code words and protocol descriptions… eugh. I hate that rubbish. I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants sort of guy. For now anyway.

Gee, this lot didn't know me very well if they thought I would take orders, but then again, if the Shadow Proclamation was behind it, it was no surprise. They were constantly trying to wrangle me in…

Allison seemed hard at work, and I looked over and said, "Guess what! They'll be here tomorrow!"

"Mm? Oh, good," she said, rather distracted. She seemed to wince very subtly.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Not sure," she said, her face scrunched. She gripped the front of the desk and grunted. "Ooh."

"Well, is it sickness or pain or dizziness…?"

She gripped harder and sucked in a quick breath through clenched teeth, and held her breath for a moment. When she let it out, it was in the form of a cry. Then she said, "Pain!"

I went to her side and turned her chair to face me. "Where? Where do you hurt?"

"Here," she said. She was indicating her lower abdomen, and the gesture filled me with dread.

"Do you need to… purge? There are poisons that attack the digestive track, and it can be excruciating…"

"No," she told me, grabbing onto my hand. "It's not like that. It's like I'm being stabbed. Torn on the inside."

I got down on my knees and examined both of her eyes, touched her jowls, looked inside her mouth, like a proper doctor. She tried to swat me away. "How long has this been going on?" I asked.

"An hour or so," she said. "It was just a pinch a little while ago, but now it's… oh my God!" she shouted as her fingernails dug into my forearms. Thank goodness for polyester or I'd have ten crescent-shaped holes in my skin. Her face went white and she turned and stumbled to a side table near the wall. She gripped the edge of the table, pulled the waste bin from underneath and vomited violently as she fell to her knees, following up with some truly horrific coughing, just before the torrential weeping began.

I would have gone to her side immediately, except that, as I looked about, I noticed something on the chair from which she had just moved that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A little pool of blood had formed and made a dark stain on the grey fabric. I tried to tell myself that it was not what I feared. It was just possible that this was normal, routine. Women bleed, why panic?

But they don't often react to it quite this way.

As I stood contemplating, she was crying. She tried to get to her feet, which she did with a struggle, but then the sobs got weaker, and I could see her begin to swoon. I knocked over the chair and a couple stacks of paper to get to her, but as she fell sideways, I was able to catch her just as she passed out. I laid her down on the floor rather unceremoniously, and dashed back over to the computer. I sent out a message for our rescuers to hurry if possible, my partner was sick.

"Doctor," Allison groaned, coming to.

"Allison, you're going to be fine," I said coming back to her side. "Just don't move."

"What's wrong with me?"

"I don't know, but we'll get you through it." It wasn't a complete lie. I didn't _know_ what was happening, not for sure. But to tell her what I suspected would only have upset her. Although, in retrospect, I'm not sure how much more upset she could have been in the end.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, and then they flew open again, and she looked at me with dread. Her arms went to her abdomen, and she screamed in pain. She turned over to one side, away from me, and vomited a second time, not bothering to reach for the bin. Then, she began to cry once more. Before thirty seconds was up, she'd lost consciousness mercifully, and I wished I had something to keep her unconscious for a bit. I moved her away from where she'd soiled the carpet, and used some tissue to clean off her mouth. I found an elastic band and pulled her hair away from her face and tied it at the nape of her neck. This was a serious, serious mess, and it was only going to get worse.

My chest had tightened, my hearts long since had begun to race. I was officially frightened. My first instinct was to pace, metacogitate through shouting, have a good, loud dialogue with the walls. I wanted to panic. Sometimes in panic, I can work out what I need to work out. But I knew that even if I were one hundred per cent sure of what was wrong, I was stuck in this room with no medical supplies, and no back-up. The sonic screwdriver doesn't fix people, only _things_. What good was it? Come to that, what good was I? I'm the Doctor, yet this woman I cared about was sprawled on the carpet, retching from some unseen agony, and passed out from the pain. And there was very little that I could do about it.

I said a silent prayer, to whom I don't know, that Allison's condition was not what I thought it was. It would mean everything would change, our situation, our relationship, Allison's entire life, in fact, would be different. The next few years would be agony for her. I knew I needed to calm down, so I busied myself in the supply closet trying to find bin liners, towels and cleaning supplies. The room would likely turn into a biohazard zone before too long, and I couldn't help her if the place wasn't safe to work in.

As I began cleaning up the first round of mess, I muttered to myself, "Low abdomen, something stabbing her, she said. No mention of nausea or flu symptoms, yet there's vomiting… not a flu-like vomiting, more like a… reaction. Grief, disgust, it comes on fast. Seems to vomit just after exhibiting great pain…" I concluded that the pain was causing the upheaval, not whatever was causing the pain.

Not good. _Very_ not good.

And when I returned to where Allison was, it all got so much worse. I dropped all of the supplies I'd gathered and rushed to her.

She was lying on the floor the way I'd left her when I'd moved her brusquely away from the mess. Her hands lay lightly and unevenly across her stomach and her legs were slightly parted. A large pool of blood was forming between her thighs and spreading out over the institutional grey carpet. Tears came to my eyes then – I'd been right.

"Allison," I moaned, tears choking me. "Oh, no."

I bent her knees and placed her feet on the floor, hoping the complex's artificial gravity would do its job and help slow the bleeding. I placed a thick binder under her hips for good measure. It wasn't ideal. About ten seconds after I did that, there was another spasm and a fresh gush of blood came forth. If she'd been conscious, it would have put her out again. I parted her legs and wadded up one of the towels. I placed it tightly against her opening, then pushed her legs closed, hoping to create more pressure.

Suddenly, she was awake. She groaned and tried to sit up.

"Shh," I told her, taking hold of her arms. My hands were covered in blood now, and I left prints on her. "Just stay where you are. You're going to be fine."

"Doctor, what's happening?" she whimpered. She reached up and wiped a tear away from my cheek with one of her thumbs. "Why are you…?"

"Just… a little emotional. Don't like this kind of drama."

She looked quizzically at her hips, and knees, having been elevated since last she saw them. "Why am I…?"

"Relax, love," I said, trying to be soothing. I stroked her forehead. "If you sit up, you'll just make it worse."

The sobs came back. "Make what worse?"

"Don't worry. Just try to relax, it'll be over soon."

"Doctor, tell me!"

"Allison…"

She pushed the binder out from under, and sat up then, and wouldn't let me stop her. She looked down at the huge, burgundy blood stain on the carpet. She knew. She looked at me with horror, and her face scrunched slowly into a sour, contorted expression of complete anguish. She buried her hands in her forearms, and sobbed like a baby.

Me, I still had tears coming as well. "Allison," I whispered, putting my hands on her shoulders.

She jerked out of my touch and looked at me with gritted teeth. She stuck an index finger in my face and spat, "You stay _the hell_ away from me!"

I swallowed hard, and nearly choked. "Allison, you can't…" I couldn't help but reach out.

She swatted my arm away from her, and it actually hurt. "I mean it. Don't come near me again, ever."

I sat back on my heels and took a deep breath to gather myself. I'd expected this, and couldn't blame her, but I hadn't expected it to hurt this much. Never in my life had I more fervently wished simply to go outside. I would have settled for backing away slowly. I considered writing the phrase "she is sick, please help," on a piece of paper and holding it up to the camera, in order to escape the reprimand, and subsequent consequences, as a result of us not working and not reproducing. But I wondered whether it would ultimately get Allison into more trouble, if they attempted to treat her, and then found out what was wrong. She could be punished for this, or I could. I didn't fancy the risk.

So, from where I sat, I used the sonic to short out the surveillance system in the office, hoping our captors wouldn't notice for a while.

As I put the sonic back in my jacket pocket, I said firmly, "Now listen. You are _not_ going to do this alone. You're hemorrhaging, and if you don't get medical attention, you will die. If I have to tie you down to save your life, then I will. But one way or another, I'm _going_ to help you, so you might as well stop fighting me."

She laid herself back down, and fresh tears came. "How could you do this to me, Doctor? How could you?" she asked. It broke my hearts – she just didn't understand.

I ignored the question and said, "Keep your legs together, tight as you can. I'll be right back."

I hurried back into the closet to find more towels, anything and everything made of fabric. I found another couple stacks of towels, a utilities uniform, some rather dirty rags, a discarded pair of bluejeans stuffed in the corner…

I heard Allison scream again, and with armfuls of fabric, I rushed back to her. She tried to turn to the side and clutch her stomach, but that would have caused more blood loss as the next spasm came. I shoved the binder back under her hips and told her to keep clenching her thighs together while I found another thick binder to elevate her further. She cried intensely for another minute, the blood came, I employed another thick wad of towels, and then the spasm seemed to subside.

After forty-five minutes of this, and having used up every scrap of fabric except for the clothes I was wearing, she said the pain had passed – she could feel it, knew that it was over. I believed her. But she tried to close her eyes and sleep. I couldn't let her do that.

"You've done enough damage," she slurred. "Let me sleep."

"You're not going to sleep, Allison, you're passing out," I said, cradling her head in my arm. "You've lost a frightening amount of blood, and you've thrown up everything you've eaten today. If you pass out, you might not wake up. It's like a head injury."

"Doct…" she started, closing her eyes.

"No! Stay with me!" I slapped her awake again. "Blimey, I wish I could give you a transfusion!"

"Why can't you?" she managed.

"No equipment for it," I told her. "Plus… remember, not human. Your body would reject my blood, and then we'd have bigger problems even than this."

"Ugh," she said, her head slipping sideways, almost off my arm, before I caught it. "Fuck off."

I needed to keep her awake and engaged, but now was not the time to argue with her about this. There would be plenty of time for that later.

"Whatever you like, but you're staying awake until we can get some food into you," I said.

It was an hour before the evening meal arrived. She didn't want to, but I coaxed her into eating her rice and beans, and drinking the orange juice. She ate about half of the piece of ham (perfectly round, the circumference of a dinner roll, only flat). I took my food and squirrelled it away so that when they transmatted the plates out of the room, they'd think it was eaten. But I wanted to have reserves for Allison later because she was going to need all the protein she could get.

And as Allison lay on the floor exactly where she'd been, no longer in the throes of agony, staring at the ceiling, I began to gather the supplies I'd extracted from the closet. She didn't want me to move her, but I didn't give her a choice. She was too weak to fight, so I picked her up and laid her down on a table, where she stayed while I sopped up the various fluids that had been imposed upon the carpet, rubbish bin and chair, and attempted to lift the stains from the fabric surfaces.

Sometime just after I threw bleach upon the big bright blotch of red, the bell went off to signal the end of the work day. I picked Allison up, and brought her into the closet, laying her down on her usual patch of rug. I undressed her, though she tried weakly to shoo me away, because we were required to sleep with no clothes. She had no strength to do it herself, and her clothes were soiled with vomit and blood (and, unfortunately, some initially rejected orange juice). I hoped tonight would be a laundry night. I then got up and undressed myself, but when I came back around the corner, she was shivering as I'd never seen her do before. I reckoned she'd lost a lot of blood, so I took my long overcoat from the shelf for the first time since I'd arrived, and covered her with it, hoping this wouldn't land us a reprimand. I moved my little rug away from her and lay down.

Allison woke about fifteen minutes before the morning bell went off, and I was already awake. She turned her head to look at me, and stared, expressionless.

"How do you feel?" I asked, sitting up.

"Like someone lied to me to get me to have sex with him, and then ripped out my insides," she answered flatly. She winced getting to a sitting position, then moved back to lean against the wall. She pulled my coat modestly up to her collar bone.

"I didn't lie to you, Allison."

"Rubbish," she spat, then crossed her arms and looked away from me.

"I swear to you."

"Right. Time Lord. Regeneration. Lost planet, boo-hoo. Shit, I've been in this place for too long. All of that bunk made sense at the time."

"All of that is true. No bunk."

"Please don't. Just… spare me. I'm exhausted from crying, my throat hurts from vomiting, I ache something fierce from the waist down, and I have to get up and work in a little while, so give me a break."

"You're not going to work," I insisted. "Not like this."

"If I don't, there will be consequences."

"If you do, there will be consequences," I hurled back. "Allison, do you understand what happened to you?"

"Yes."

"It was, basically, what amounts to the expulsion of an organ! It feels like your insides were ripped out because they were!"

"I get it. I know what it was, all right?"

"Really? Because even as miscarriages go, that one was nasty business. You should be in hospital. You should have a transfusion, a PETscan, psychological counselling…"

"Oh, well, why don't you do all of that? You're the Doctor, aren't you? I can trust you!" Sarcasm, I have found, is rarely productive in situations like this, but I didn't say so.

"You _can_ trust me, Allison."

"Save it. It doesn't matter now. What's done is done, and the important thing is that your lie didn't cost _our child_ its freedom in the end, so… just save your breath, all right?"

I stood up and quickly pulled on my pants and trousers. "Oh, for God's sake, it was not _our child_! It couldn't have been – it's impossible!"

"Then what the hell was that, eh? You can't have a miscarriage without a pregnancy, and you can't have a pregnancy without fucking. So I ask you, _Doctor_, who's been fucking me?"

"Wrong!" I shot back. "You _can_ have a pregnancy without fucking, if you get mysteriously transmat-beamed out of here and knocked unconscious, and get inseminated in the interim!"

For a moment, she stared at me with her mouth open, as though she'd been ready to hurl something back, and then lost her impetus. Then, she turned her head in disgust and spat, "You don't even know that's what happened!"

"If they're so bent on breeding, Allison, that's probably what they did to you, before they knew I'd be arriving."

"Shut up – you don't know!"

"I know that it's the only scenario that makes sense. Unless you were in here playing house with a human male before I arrived…"

"Oh, fuck you!"

I held my arms up, disarming. "Fine." I put on my shirt and tie and jacket, then inspected her clothes. The bell went off then. "Your outfit has been cleaned, would you like some help getting dressed?"

"I can dress myself, thanks." She put her hands on the floor and made to push herself up, but let out a breathy groan, and stopped the exertion. "Shit."

"You can't even stand up yourself," I said. I took the rest of the uneaten ham from the shelf and gave it to her. She ate it reluctantly. I handed her bra to her, and laid her blouse and skirt and knickers at her side. In exchange, I picked up my coat, which she'd been using as a blanket, and returned it to the shelf.

With some difficulty, she was able to get herself into the bra and blouse, but when it came time for underwear and skirt, she needed to stand. I put my arm underneath her arms and lifted, amid mild protestations from her. She simply held onto me as she dressed, almost passing out again a couple of times.

"Eat some more," I said.

"No," she replied. "Besides, breakfast will be here soon."

"A bunch of bread and some coffee isn't going to do you much good. Have some protein – I saved the beans from last night."

"I don't want them," she sighed, annoyed (well, really beyond annoyed) with me. "Just leave me alone."

"Fine," I said, as she held onto my arm and we walked toward the closet door. "Just… do not exert yourself. Sit in the chair and stare at the screen. Don't try to think or walk around. If you need to rest, go to the loo…"

"Yeah, yeah," she said. "I get it. Doctor's orders."

Much to my surprise, the office was squeaky clean when we arrived. All traces of yesterday's debacle had been erased, including the odor of cleaning agents I'd attempted to use myself. I also noticed that the surveillance camera was back online. We both sat down and pretended to work. Allison sat with her hands on the keyboard, her shoulders slumped and her eyes dead.

A voice came through the tannoy after perhaps an hour. "Doctor?" it whispered.

I furrowed and looked about. "Yes?"

"It's Fekom Katt from the NTMS," the voice said. "We're on the premises."

"Brilliant!" I said. "Can you find me?"

"We're working on engaging the transmat," he said. "They've got password protection layered like puff pastry. It's taking a minute. Meanwhile, we're evacuating some of the breeder servants in the outer parts of the complex…"

I looked back at Allison. Nothing had changed. She was not reacting to this news at all.

"Look, get us out of here as quickly as possible, and I can help you!"

"I know, Doctor! We're working on it. We got your message about ten hours ago, but we couldn't go any faster, I'm sorry," he said.

"It's all right."

"Is your partner okay?"

"Just… hurry," I said.

I began to pace, but thought better of it, and sat down again. The camera was back and I wanted to call zero attention to myself.

And suddenly an alarm began to blare. A loud voice boomed, "Unauthorised use of transmat beam! Intruders suspected! Intruders suspected!"

After a beat, the voice said, "Intruders confirmed as humanoid. Engage security protocol seven! Prepare for humanoid purge! Prepare for humanoid purge!"

"Shit!" I cried out. "They've got a sentient bomb! Trained on humanoids! I bet it can be reversed! Fekom Katt! _Let me out!"_

"Got it, Doctor! Got just enough power for one beam before they shut it down! Grab onto your partner, and let's go!"

I reached for Allison's hand. She jerked away. With dead eyes and a dead voice, she said, "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"What?" I shouted.

"I'd rather stay here," she said, again, flatly. "I can't trust you. Just get out."

"Allison, you've got to come with me! I know you're angry but…"

With that, the transmat was engaged and my body seemed to dissolve.


	23. Jettison

Jettison

I appeared in the rotunda just outside the office beside a burly militia bloke. "Doctor, I'm Fekom Katt," he said.

The alarm was still blaring. A sentient bomb was trained on all humanoids on the planet. We had less than ten minutes to disarm it. But there were bigger things on my mind.

"Put me back in there! I have to get her out!" I shouted.

"I can't do that," he said, so calmly it made me furious. "We have to move."

"Allison!" I screamed, willing her to hear me through the walls. "ALLISON!" I began banging on the curved surfaces.

"Doctor! Pull yourself together!" he cried, pulling me away from the wall.

I turned abruptly and grabbed Katt by the arms. "She's still in there! And she hates me! And there's a bomb – she'll die! I saved her life and now she doesn't believe me, and she hates me, she'll never know the truth because now she'll die – don't you see?"

I know there must have been tears running down my face then. I felt hysterical – I _was _hysterical. I can only imagine what a genetically-engineered militia man was thinking. There was a panel in the wall that Katt had been using to rig the transmat beam. I tore it apart and stuck the sonic in it trying to reanimate. I was panting, shouting. Nothing was working. He'd been right. They'd shut down the transmat system, and if the sonic couldn't rig it, it was deadlocked. Without that beam, I had no idea how to get Allison out of there.

Katt shouted once more, "Doctor, we don't have time for this, we have to move!" He grabbed my arm and I wriggled free. When I turned back to the wall and started pounding again, he wrapped one of his arms around my neck and began to pull. The guy was big and wide and trained in advanced military manhandling, so I didn't really stand a chance. He was able to drag me easily down the corridor.

"Doctor, I'm sorry to have to do this, but it's for your own good, and for the good of every humanoid on this planet," he said, still moving through the complex, my trainers dragging on the floor as I struggled. "We need your help finding that bomb before we can even think of leaving this planet."

"Fine, fine, just let me go," I sputtered.

"Do you swear upon the lives of your lost people that you will not attempt to elude me until I deem it necessary?"

The question surprised me, but I said, "Yes, I swear."

He let go and I stood upright, pulling my suit jacket straight. "Thank you," I breathed.

He pulled a comm device from his Batman-like utility belt, started walking quickly again, and said into it, "This is Katt, come in homebase." I had no choice but to follow as he moved.

A voice crackled over the line.

"I'll need at least another two units," he said. "We're shifting our personnel to locating a sentient bomb seeking humanoids. We'll need support in the evacuation effort."

"Fekom Katt," I said. "I know you have your priorities, but I can't just… what about my partner?"

He stopped and looked at me, annoyed. "Name?"

"Allison. But they call her Shepius here."

"What does she look like?"

I resisted the urge to sigh and let the tears come again. Or to let the description slip into something unnecessarily maudlin and poetic. I kept it simple. "She's tall, brown hair… wears a black skirt and a white blouse. She works in the Traffic Development Office, it's a kind of technology support thing."

He got back on the horn and said, "Note to second unit: priority to locate and recover a humanoid female in the Traffic Development Office. She's called Allison, but she might also answer to Shepius. Brown hair, black skirt, white shirt."

"Thank you," I said.

He nodded.

The voice crackled again. I couldn't understand a word they were saying, the connection was so awful.

"One more time?" Katt said. Apparently he was in the same boat as I.

He listened to the explanation, and then cursed. He turned off his comm unit and looked at me. "Our ship's been destroyed," he said. "The one we parked out in the Hinterlands just off the complex. The one that was supposed to take us out of here."

"That's okay," I said. "My ship is parked somewhere in the complex as well, we just have to find it. It can take everyone, your men and every being on this planet, out of here."

"That's not the point, Doctor," he said. "Our ships carry a Capcaddam Constellation forcefield. Most planets don't have the technology to penetrate it. It means that they could blow us out of the sky if they wanted. It means…"

"…that the incoming units are in danger as well."

"Right. Because if they've destroyed our ship, they're sophisticated. And if they're sophisticated, they know about military procedure, and they'll know that we'll have called for backup. They'll be looking for our second and third units!"

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. Suddenly, I'd become the calm one. "All the more reason to find my ship."

"Fine, where did they take it?"

"I don't know," I said, burying my hands in my hair. I was frightened, exasperated, semi-heartbroken at this stage, and trying to keep my wits about me. "Have you found the Mulius? The humanoids who haul things? They'll know."

Fekom Katt got back on the comm and asked the network of soldiers listening in. The answer came back unintelligible as ever.

"They're not making much sense, Doctor, they're talking on the fly," he said. "They're saying that the Mulius are somewhere in the underground sectors, but they're not sure where…"

"Brilliant," I spat. "That narrows it down."

"Well, word is that you're a good man to have around when the field is wide and chances are slim. Find your ship, Doctor," he said. "My men and I will find the bomb. Can you rig a comms system to get in touch with me with your… sonic thing?"

"Yes," I said. "I'll let you know if I find it. _When _I find it."

"You'd better," he said, taking my hand to shake it. "It might be our only hope."

He ran down the hall and around the corner. I looked back down the corridor the way we had come, and had to resist the urge to go back into the rotunda and break Allison out of the Traffic Development Office. But I reminded myself that thousands of human and humanoid lives were at stake, and I likely couldn't save everyone (maybe not even her) if I listened to my hearts and went back for her.

So I ran. My first order of business was to find a lift, or something that would take me down into the underground tunnels. I found a teleport pod, but it had been deadlocked along with the transmat beams. It occurred to me that even the hovering purple Seulians would have to have a backup plan if their technology failed (and judging by the fact that they force genius humans to rig their technology, and then try to breed them, I guessed that they didn't fully understand their own tech systems), and there must be a staircase or something. I ran to the end of the nearest corridor whose end I could see, and there I found a door. It was an empty shaft with a ladder, not a staircase, which made sense for beings who didn't walk, but had bipedal servants.

At the bottom, I found another door, and I went through it. More corridors. I sighed. The good news was that at this level, there were signs to lead me around. The bad news was that there were miles and miles _and miles_ of bloody hallway!

_Mulius Quarters _the sign had said, but I'd run and run and… and then a boon! I looked down a tributary hall and saw three very stocky, strong-looking guys, trying to move something large.

"Mulius!" I called out.

They were so startled, they dropped their cargo.

I ran toward them and said, "Do any of you remember me?"

They stared at me blankly, speechless.

"You are Mulius, yeah?"

They nodded.

And then, I looked at what they were hauling. It was draped with black cloth, about seven feet tall, rectangular up and down, square on the floor.

"What is that?" I asked.

None of them moved.

I leapt forward, none of them tried to stop me, and I lifted up the black curtain. It was as I had thought.

"That's… that's… that's my ship!" I whined from under the cloth. When I came back out again, I asked, "Where the hell are you taking it?"

One of the men got very close to me and whispered, "Shh. We've been infiltrated, and the Masters wanted it destroyed. We were told to take it to the pyre."

"Well, not anymore," I said, shooing them out of my way. "I'll take it from here."

They basically stepped aside and let me pull the black cloth off my TARDIS. Why not? The place was insanity, with alarms blaring, people running, soldiers ploughing through everything. What did they have to lose? I turned the key and went inside. Then I stuck my head back out again, and said, "If you want to live, I'd suggest you follow the chaos."

One of them nodded at me gravely, and they all turned and ran. They understood what I meant. Where there was chaos, there was rescue. They knew the danger, and now that I'd taken their cargo off their hands, well, they wanted to get the hell out of Dodge.

Looking back, I should have brought them into the TARDIS with me. Oh, the _should haves _in the life of a traveller.

The first thing I did, of course, was set coordinates for the Traffic Development Office. "Hang on, Allison," I muttered. "I'm coming."

The TARDIS made its magnificent grinding noise, and I couldn't help but smile triumphantly, casting a bit of a self-satisfied, "Yyyyeah…" in to the air. When it came to a stop and I opened to door, I expected to see the office in which I'd spent the last, relatively pleasant considering the alternative, three to four weeks of my life. But instead, there was just the rotunda.

I noticed that the temperature had gone up considerably.

I circled around the TARDIS in disbelief and looked up at the letters toward the ceiling that said TDO. I let out a cry of frustration, and then shouted, "They've deadlocked _any and all _teleportations into humanoid quarters! Bastards!" With my teeth gritted and my voice low and angry, I added, "Oh, me and the militia boys, we will _end you_. Just you watch!"

And I meant it.

I realised even then that these words were very unlike me. I'd seen (more or less) two rather hideous genocides at the height and end of the Time War, and I'd spent the time since then preaching against precisely what I was saying and feeling just then. The Doctor, the anti-genocidal hippie guru of the warring universe. But who was I now? I didn't care about negotiations or rehabilitation. I wanted this planet _gone_, along with every single bloody purple squid on a hoverboard. All of them.

Who was I, indeed?

And then the answer came when a muffled, breathless, desperate cry of my name made my hearts leap.

I was a man in love.

Well, no wonder I was having such violent thoughts.

"Allison! Allison, where are you?" I asked. I looked about to try and find the source of her voice.

"Blimey, where do you think I am, genius?"

I'd found where her voice was coming from. About six inches from the ceiling, there was a hole in the wall, the size of the round part of a soda can. "How did you do that?" I asked. I began climbing, one foot on the wall, one foot on the TARDIS, spider-like, up toward the hole. I don't know why. Yes, I do.

I got up there, and I could see her eyes, barely, and they were dark behind the circle. She must have been standing on a table. "I knocked the camera out of the wall and it made this hole."

"How?"

"I used your desk chair."

I smiled. "Good girl!"

"Doctor," she said, and I could hear her voice break. "It's getting really hot in here."

"I know – out here as well... ohhhhh!" I was staring off now, having come to a frightening realisation.

"What?" she cried out. "What is it?"

"I thought it was a bomb."

"Thought what was a bomb?"

"The thing that's going to destroy all humanoids," I said. "But it's not, is it? It's a Genus-Recognition Pressuriser. It uses a catalyst for heat and pressure that the Seulians are immune to. They're probably all over the complex, all over the planet."

"So you are you saying that I'm going to _cook_ in here?"

"No, I'm saying that that's what _would_ happen if you stayed in there. But I'm going to get you out! All teleports are deadlocked – I can't even use my ship to get in right now. But if I can find the master control room, then I can undo the deadlock…"

She stuck her fingers through the hole. I felt my knees weaken when she did this, and I almost lost my footing between the two surfaces and fell to the floor. "Please hurry, Doctor. I know I said I didn't trust you…"

I touched her fingers and interrupted her. "Shhh. Save it. Right now, just… try not to think too hard. I will be back for you as soon as I can, okay? First I have to find Fekom Katt, and we have to gather up all of the Pressurisers."

"Okay," she said. "I'll wait here for you."

"Good. Just…" I started. I almost said _trust me_, but thought better of it. "…be brave. Have faith."

I hoisted myself up higher, and took her fingers and kissed them. Then I let go of my foothold and landed on the floor with a thud.

I fired up the comm system and said, "Fekom Katt, what is your current location?"

"I'm in the Fourth Sector," he answered. "Where are you?"

"I'm calling from my boat, my wheels, the RMS Doctor, if you will," I said. "If you can be more specific, I'll come to you."

"Fourth Sector, the Aranius pod," he said. "About eighty yards from the Hinterlands docking post."

"On my way!"

When the TARDIS materialised and I exited, I received a shock. Fekom Katt and two of his men were standing guard round one of the purple Seulians, and were holding him at gunpoint.

"Whoa," I said. "Nice." I stuck my hands smugly in my pocket and leaned against the TARDIS. Feelin' pretty cool. For now.

"Doctor, according to Rix here, the threat to humanoids is in the form of Genus-Recognition Pressurisers, not bombs."

"Yeah, I worked that out already," I said, a bit too smugly. "So how many are there?"

"Eighty," Katt answered. "He says, anyway."

"And how many have we found?" I asked.

"Only twenty-one," Katt answered.

"Well, get them in here," I said. "Tell your men to get those pressurisers into my ship post-haste. No time to disarm each one, so we're going to jettison them."

Fekom Katt used his comm system to order his men to do what I'd said. One by one, militia-types began to file into the room, carrying innocuous-looking black boxes. I ushered them into the TARDIS.

"Where did you find these?" I asked them periodically.

"Sector twelve," one answered.

"Thirteen," another said.

"Ten."

In a time-span that felt like years, but was probably more like four minutes, I counted eighteen pressurisers on the floor inside the TARDIS. As I waited impatiently for the last three to show, I asked of the men, anyone who would listen, "Have you found any out near the Traffic Development Office?"

"That's the sixth sector," Katt said.

"No, sir," one of the militia men answered. "The ones in the lower sectors are trickier. Security is a nightmare in those parts of the complex as well."

"Yes, I've noticed, that's where they keep their… _rarer _livestock," I muttered. I turned to Rix and said, "Where are the pressurisers in sector six hidden?"

Rix laughed a maniacal, disgusting laugh that made my blood boil. He gave me a defiant look, a smile of utter malice that let me know he wasn't going to tell me anything.

"Why have you deadlocked the teleports in those parts?" I demanded.

He continued to gaze at me calmly, infuriating me.

Advancing on him, losing control of my temper, I shouted, "Look, I'm not someone you want to fuck with right now, and I have my reasons why, so if I were you…"

"I know your reasons very well, Shepius," he said, almost sang. "She'll broil from the inside out, along with the rest of the lower sectors. Live with that."

"Oh, you just bought yourself a one-way ticket to oblivion, my friend," I said. Again, my teeth were gritted, and it was everything I could do not to rush at him and strangle him to death right there. "Your time is up. I'm bloody finished with this whole forsaken planet."

"Doctor!" one of the men cried from inside. "We have twenty-three, let's go!"

"Twenty-three?" I asked. "Nice work, you found two more in the last five minutes! Tell your men to keep looking!"

I ran inside the TARDIS, along with the two guys who had brought the last of the pressurisers. The temperature was unbearable. I began to sweat through my suit straight away. Much to my surprise, Fekom Katt followed us in. I looked at him with question, and he said, "He's not going to talk, and you're going to need help getting these things out of here as quickly as possible."

"Fine, whatever, just shut the door and hold on for departure!"

As the TARDIS slammed and shambled about like always, the men hung on to the rails.

"Doctor, where are you taking us?" Katt asked, shouting over the TARDIS' gears.

"Out to the galaxy field that neighbours the planet," I said.

"You can't jettison these things out there," he protested. "Most of the galaxies are inhabited!"

"Not all of them, and I know which ones!"

"How do you know?"

"I just do!" I said. "The old ones are the pretty ones, the ones that sparkle, the ones everyone talks about. The young ones don't have any shape yet, or are just starting to form, and nothing can live there! No shape means no orbit. No orbit means no gravity, no sun, no life… unless you're Seulian."

"If you say so," he conceded. "You're the Doctor!"

When we stopped moving, I dashed to the door and opened it. We were hovering just barely within sight of the planet Seulia Major to our left, and out in front of us and down, a small galaxy. It looked like dust and plaster all swirled together like a child's fingerpainting. The particles had not condensed yet enough to form real stars, and the shape of the galaxy had not yet attained its spiral-like appearance. This was definitely one of the young ones.

"Okay boys," I said. "The airlock is in place. Start tossing."

As the black boxes, boiling with heat, pressure and seeking to destroy, came into contact with the radioactive stardust, they exploded into a million billion pieces, and sparkled dazzlingly against the black of space. The chemical reaction was spectacular, and for the next million years, this young galaxy's unincorporated dust would have plenty to chew on, and so would the pressurisers' sentient heat.

"Blimey!" one of the men sighed as he watched. Fekom Katt admonished him to hurry up, we didn't have all day to ooh and aah over some bloody galaxy.

But when it was all done, we couldn't help it. The young, unnamed galaxy sparkled more brightly than any of the older ones, and the colours varied. I resolved to come back with Allison later, and find out what was causing that.

As we idled by the doorway for an ill-conceived break, an alert of some sort went off on Katt's belt. He pulled a mini-screen from the mix and looked at it. "Our second and third units are closing in on the planet," he said. "But they've been spotted."

"What can we do to help them, sir?" one of the men asked. I was impressed.

Katt sighed. "There's nothing we can do," he said. Then his face scrunched as he looked at the screen, and he asked, "What the hell…?"

I took it from him and blipped about on the controls a bit. The readings I was getting were that the militia's ships were being shot at from seventeen different angles, by moving pods. "The Seulians are fighting back! Either that or evacuating. They're flying about like a swarm!"

"What?"

"Let's get closer," I said, slamming the doors shut and running back to the console. I flew the TARDIS, as opposed to dematerialising, at high speed toward the planet. As we got closer, there was chaos around the sphere. It looked like flies swarming around a rotten egg. I went back to the door for a first-hand look, and even worse, I could see the outer parts of the glass corridors and different sectors of the giant compound in which the Seulians conducted their business and kept their livestock contained. Many of the glass panels were broken, and steam was pouring out of certain areas.

"Doctor, what's happening?" someone asked. It might have been Katt, it might have been one of the others – who bloody knows?

"If the pressure has got up high enough to break that glass, and the heat is escaping in hot steam like that, then..." I gulped, and stared.

"What?"

"...then, anyone left alive in those sectors is dead."

"Well, aren't there certain parts that haven't reached critical mass yet?"

"Presumably, yes..."

"Then let's get back there!"

"We're going into sector six first," I insisted, going back to the console, firing it up.

"Wait just a second, how do we know it's not critical yet?"

"We don't."

"But what if it is?"

I stared at Katt for a long, drawn-out moment. My eyes were steel with determination, and I could see his face melt into uncertainty.

"Now hold on, Doctor," he said. "I know you're willing to die for... this cause, but I'm not."

"It's _my_ ship," I said, hard as nails, beginning to move about on the control panels.

"That we're using in _my_ operation," he shouted at me. "And I forbid it."

"You don't have the power to forbid," I said, leaning forward at him. "Of the two of us, which one of us knows how to fly this thing?"

He stared at me angrily, but didn't speak.

"That's right," I said. "So grab onto something, 'cause it's gonna get..."

With that, all four of us were knocked off our feet. The TARDIS jolted over backwards and flipped over several times. I managed to climb my way back to the console when we were stabilised, and I looked at the screen. There was a full-scale battle going on around us. The militia's ships were careening about, under fire, dodging the blasts of the Seulian pods' missiles. In the wake of their shooting past, we were being tossed like salad. No sooner had I realised that, than we were thrown over again, sideways, up, forwards, against the wall – we were like ragdolls.

And then we were hit. I screamed out a curse, and climbed back to the console. I looked into the Time Rotor as best I could from my vantage point sideways on the floor, and it was discoloured. It shone a sickly pale green that was really more of a translucent beige; it had been shot. It was reeling from the blast and had hopped off the proper path on the vortex, much as you would stumble off the pavement into traffic if someone shot you in the shoulder. Controlling the TARDIS' time movements was going to be tricky.

An alarm sounded from some part of the console where I was not, and I was not able to identify the sound as the alert to a defence mechanism that it was, until it was too late. The TARDIS, under stress, its "brain" having been damaged, had pulled us out of that time and space and landed us somewhere else. And once we stopped, the Time Rotor fizzled out altogether, and the lights in the TARDIS went dark. I used a kind of primitive friction pump below the metal grate around the console to bring back a few of the instruments – nothing strong enough to move us, of course. Just enough to show me just how buggered we were.

One of the militia men ran for the door, and I cried out to stop him. But he didn't heed the warning. No matter, we weren't in a pressure-cooker on the planet Seulia Major. We weren't in danger of being sucked out through a weakness in glass and catapulted back into the middle of a battle storm again.

"Where are we?" he asked, staring outside.

"England," I answered, staring at my machinery. "Seventh September, 1559."


	24. Welcome

Welcome

The four of us, once more stood at the door and peered out.

"Where is this?" Fekom Katt asked quietly. "I mean, where is England?"

"On Earth," I said, forlorn. "The place where the human race originated. And England? One of my favourite places in the universe."

Before us, there were nothing but trees, but in the distance, I could see red brick, just barely peeking through the leaves and bark.

"And 1559," he commented. "That's… a really long time ago."

"Yep," I said. And nothing more.

He turned and walked up the ramp and looked around at the dark interior of the TARDIS. Anyone could see that the ship had gone dormant, and that it wouldn't be leaving here anytime soon.

"So, how do we get back?" he asked.

The two militia men looked at me.

"I'll have to fix it," answered flatly.

"How long will that take?"

"I don't know. Depends what's wrong. Hours, days, weeks, maybe."

"What do we do in the meantime?"

"We can't stay here, the power's down. It's like no-man's land in here. Cold and echoing. We'll have to try to blend in," I said, realising even then how daft an idea that was. These guys were from eight thousand, five hundred years in the future. What, apart from certain physiological features, did they have in common with sixteenth-century English gentry?

"How do we do that?" one of the men asked.

"Well, there's a building out there, we're going to have to go there and try to find some people, maybe they can put us up, or at least tell us where the hell we are. I mean, England isn't a huge country, but, well, it's big enough to get lost in, especially in Elizabethan times. Is it Elizabethan?" I asked myself out loud. I thought about it. "Bloody Mary died, and Elizabeth acceded to the throne in November, 1558, so… yes. Okay fellas, let's start with names," I said, shutting the door. I turned to one of the men. "Tell me yours."

"Potzick Rolor," he said.

"Nice to meet you," I said. "You are now Patrick Roland, a cousin of Henry Fitzroy. Got it?"

"Er, sure."

I looked at the second militia man. He was shorter, stouter, darker. "You?"

"I'm Wogke Cecon," he answered.

"Okay. Right. You're now Walter Seakind, and you're a descendant of William the Conqueror."

Cecon looked up and to his right and talked quietly to himself, as though he were trying to memorise this information.

"And Fekom Katt," I said. "Your name is Frederick Cantor. Your father left a monastery to be with your mother, a failed novice nun, now you're a monk."

"Doctor," said Rolor. "Er, what about our clothing?"

"Go down that hall," I said, pointing to the doorway off the TARDIS console room. As I spoke, I looked under the console for some battery-operated torches so the men could navigate inside the pitch-dark TARDIS. "Go about, oh, a quarter mile, and you'll find a large wooden door painted purple and gold. Go in there – it's a period wardrobe. I'll be with you shortly."

Rolor and Cecon went, but Katt stayed with me as I stared out into the known unknown.

"Doctor, don't worry about her," he said softly, touching my shoulder. "Our second and third units were on the way in. They'll get her out."

I looked a thim. I was just sad. One of the simplest emotions I'd felt in recent history. Pure sadness. "Can you guarantee that?"

"No, but our militias are…"

"…grossly outnumbered," I interrupted.

He sighed. "You've got a time machine."

I chuckled bitterly. "It doesn't work that way."

The bitterness, in fact, was palpable, in knowing that I _could _but also knowing that I would not. _Of course _I wanted very badly to go back and fix it, save everyone, save Allison. I could have gone back and prevented the deadlock on all the teleports so that we could get her out of the room when we needed to. I could go back and keep the Seulians from taking her away to inseminate her, which would have prevented the whole ugly mess that she went through, and then she'd have had no reason not to trust me when I asked her to come. Any number of variables could have been fixed, but if I lived my life that way, well… the universe would be a very different place. The Time Lords had gone, yes, but I'd had my hideous bout with trying to play God in their absence, and it hadn't ended particularly well. Death on Mars or death on Earth; death was death.

I wanted to be benevolent most of the time, but saving Allison would be, ultimately, selfish, and it would cause more risk than the benefits would justify. Sorry, but I wasn't willing to have another insane wrestling match with the laws of time and space. They were bigger than me, I could see that now.

The best I could do is pop back into the fray the moment after I left it. And yeah, I would try. But in this matter, the matter of saving the humanoids of Seulia Major from their captors, time was of the essence, and in the space of a few minutes, thirty seconds, even, everything could change, and everyone could die. On a good day, I was not an overly precise navigator within a few minutes' time – I'd never seen the point, and failed my exams for it. And the TARDIS would be just recovering from a nervous breakdown. I would do my best, but I had to come to terms with the fact that I might never know what became of Allison. Whether she died a terrifying death alone inside that office, or whether she passed out before she felt any pain or became aware of her organs cooking. I'd never know if she ran out of air first, or if she was killed in the fray. Or perhaps the militia got to her before any of that happened… how could I know, if I happened to misfire my time machine? And it wasn't like I was a novice to that prospect either; I'd survived many a horrible uncertainty without breaking rules.

But breaking rules. Pff. I was a _walking _broken rule. An anomaly, _the exception _in so many ways. The Time Lords had been the only race of their kind in the universe, the kind that governed peacefully (sometimes to a fault) and kept perspective over time itself on behalf of everyone else. And among this unique lot, I was the last to exist. And even within this singular life I'd led, this regeneration was anomalous. It was arrogant and lustful, and it had got itself into quite a mess, simply taking advantage of some undeserved gifts. Because I'd been so determined to flout the call of the Ood, so bent upon not bowing down to my death, so bloody starved for a shag, I'd helped destroy the life of a very good woman, brought destruction upon thousands of humanoids…

…and I'd got my heart broken again. Not that that was the worst thing that happened that day, but, well, we all live in our own worlds, don't we?

I sighed at the thought of Seulia Major. I was racking them up. Bad Wolf Bay. Versailles. The Jones family's front garden. The Starship Titanic. The Library, and now Seulia Major. All places of great heartache for me, forced to let go of women I liked or loved or lusted after or any combination thereof. Each one of them had crushed me in some way or other, and vice versa, and all of them since I'd awakened in Howard's pyjamas in this tall, skinny, oddly alluring shell I wear today.

And I was tired of breaking the rules, being an anomaly, tired of the annihilation. I resolved then to fix my TARDIS, straighten out whatever needed straightening here in 1559, and get my skinny arse back to the Oodsphere to face whatever was next. I was in no hurry to die – regeneration is traumatic, by all accounts. It's like a stranger wakes up wearing your shoes, and then takes over your life, and I was never keen for that to happen. But I was just so, so tired.

* * *

Under ordinary circumstances, I would have had to stifle a giggle watching three men from the 92nd century attempting to look casual in clothes from the 16th. But not today. I wasn' t in the mood. Today, it just seemed grotesque, or at least like a farce. They were a walking reminder of what I'd left behind on Seulia Major, and the more ridiculous they looked and acted, the more of a mockery they made of it (even if it wasn't intentional).

"What about you?" Wogke Cecon asked.

"I'm a time traveller," I answered. "I fit in everywhere."

He looked me up and down sceptically. "What era is _that_ from?" he asked, referring to my brown suit.

I frowned. I liked my suit. "Let's just get the hell out of here, yeah?"

On the way to the console room and out the door, his tall friend Potzick Rolor complained, "Boy, are these clothes heavy. Doctor, why can't we just stay here while you get help? We have some provisions in our utility kits…"

Fekom Katt scolded him. "Officer, you hold your tongue. The Doctor is in charge now."

I looked at him with rather bitter amusement. "That makes a change."

"Well, we're clearly out of our element. We wish to survive, so we must follow your lead," he conceded. "And it is your ship."

"Thank you," I muttered. "I'm glad you see it my way. And the reason you can't stay here is that in half a day or so, everything will go darker than the inside of a cow in here, you'll freeze, and even the torch lights will go out. And, all due respect, gentlemen, but I'm not leaving three virtual strangers aboard my very fragile, sentient and ailing ship for days on end while I cavort with the gentry. And that's the sort of thinking that usually keeps me and my friends alive and mobile."

Rolor was not impressed by me. "Couldn't keep your girlfriend alive."

Cecon, and even Katt, held their breaths. Their eyes went as wide as saucers. I took in a sharp, deep breath in order to keep from denting the man's cheekbones with my fist, and/or biting off my own tongue. But I did not have any trouble getting right in his face. He was an inch or so taller than me, but it didn't matter.

Our noses must have been less than two inches apart. I all but growled. "You are scared, and defensive and _monumentally_ thick, none of which is your fault, so I'm going to let that slide. But I would ask you to keep two things in mind. One: Allison probably died horribly, trapped and terrified, because she let her fear and anger take over, and _didn't listen to me_. You see what happens when things fall out of my control, so I suggest you fall in line, because the sixteenth century is not a time to be walking about England, throwing your weight around. They are not impressed by you, they do not find you amusing. They burn people alive. They cut them limb from limb. The condemned _pray_ for decapitation as a pleasant substitute."

He gulped. His eyes had gone wide as well.

I continued on my grumbling, rasping rant. "And two: if you _ever_ say anything like that within my earshot again, I will leave you here. Go mad from syphilis, die from bubonic plague for all I care. Try to push my buttons, and I wash my hands of you. Are we clear?"

He nodded, and said nothing.

I should not need to re-iterate here that I was acting like a prick and was aware of it. I've said it before, though, so I'll probably say it again.

"All right, men," I said, sighing heavily. "Into the breach."

* * *

It was a living forest, natural, normal, not weird and perfect like Frescaverdi. There was a breatheability about the place; perhaps I was happy just to be back on Earth, but I felt immediately relieved _and right_, being in this wood, not too thick, not too sparse. The weight of the past few weeks was dropping off from my shoulders as I took my first steps forward and felt a refreshing crunch of dead foliage under my feet.

"This is the seat of humankind?" asked Cecon, looking about sceptically.

"Well, yes," I said, a bit on the defensive side. "Nine thousand years in your past. It's not like they have molecule pressurisers or speed-of-light teleport yet. They've only recently slowed down actively believing in witchcraft."

Something about that word rang a bell with me. Something about my own voice in my ears, it sounded familiar.

_This lot have still got one foot in the dark ages. If I tell them the truth they'll panic and say it was witchcraft._

I remembered saying it, but when?

A couple of years back (or forty years from now, depending how you choose to see it), in London, with Martha, Shakespeare standing by…

But why was it making me nervous? I didn't think it was terribly likely I'd bump into the Carrionites here. I knew that they'd been cast into darkness by the eternals, only to be set free by Shakespeare's words, which would not grace the public stage until 1588. Plenty of time between now and then to get gone. I didn't dread running into Shakespeare himself, nor crossing my own timeline, so what was bothering me?

Within a few minutes, I'd know.

The men and I followed a path in the forest that we found, about twenty yards from the TARDIS. It seemed to lead toward the brick structure I'd seen when we first arrived.

"Who lives there?" Rolor asked me. He sounded like an overgrown child. Or perhaps that was simply my perception, since he hadn't done much in the last few minutes to fall into my good graces.

"No idea," I said, shoving my hands into my pockets and striding like I owned the place. "I suppose we'll find out."

As we grew closer, the place began to take shape. I'd seen it in photos, I'd even been here once or twice, though far, far in the future when most of the building was torn down and replaced by a bigger, more grandiose structure.

But today, the great red building was as grand as it ever was, and it was bustling with life.

"Hatfield House," I muttered. "In its heyday."

The three men stood, jaws agape. I wondered if they'd ever seen a building built of organic matter, as this one was, and not constructed from steel or fibreglass or plastic or some other synthetic material of the human empire, post- the 73rd century Intergalactic Mining Act.

One of the men, I don't know which, absently repeated, "Hatfield House," after me, as though he were trying it on for size, working out how the word tasted in his mouth.

There were people everywhere – the place was being prepped for an event of some kind. The gardens were being pruned by a careful, veritable army of men with giant metal clippers that could have taken off the head of anyone nearby. The exterior was being cleaned with horsehair brushes on long wooden rods. Lumber was being brought into the house by the armful by buxom women. Dead pigs, rabbits and various fowl were being unloaded off a horsecart and brought ceremoniously in through one of the side doors. The windows were being washed from the inside and outside, new flowers were being transplanted in great pots outside the hedges.

And in the front doorway stood a beatific-looking woman, elegantly overseeing the proceedings. She was small, red-haired, surprisingly lovely, and twenty-six years old today.

"Oh, no," I grumbled.

Ever the eagle-eye, the young, clever, shrewd Queen of England was the first to see us approach. She extended an angry, pointy index finger, and with only a hint of the frightful hiss that would come to dominate her voice in her twilight years, she announced, "Intruders!"

And now I knew what had been nagging at me. Not witchcraft, not the Carrionites, not Will, not my timelines. It was _her. _At the back of my mind, I'd been making the connection ever since we landed and I'd noticed the date. I'd heard that very voice before, a couple of years ago (or forty years from now… again, your choice on how to see it) calling me its _Sworn Enemy_, and ordering my decapitation. It had all been much to Will's great amusement, to Martha's horror and to my own curious delight, and I had survived…

…and presumably I'd survive whatever was to come in the next few days, but I knew, whatever it was, it wasn't going to be easy.

And unfortunately, now I knew the power wielded by our hostess, I was not necessarily able to say the same of my 93rd century comrades. They were suspicious-looking, absolutely clueless, and I had given them words that were sure now to get them interrogated, or worse. Blimey.

A small brigade of very S&M-looking bodyguards came out of nowhere. Once again, I found myself being strongarmed by someone large and blindly obedient (and as it happened, rather hairy).

The Queen took four steps down to the ground, and the staff all went to one knee as she passed through the gardens. She stopped only three-quarters of the way to the end of the hedge. Her gaze bore holes into my face, and her sardonic smirk gave me an inexplicable shiver. "Bring me the wiry one," she told the guards, though still looking at me. "Take the others round to the larder. We'll serve them to the guests."

The guard twisting my arm bowed very slightly, and muttered, "Your Majesty."

I could hear a sharp intake of startled breath from behind me where the militia men had heard the Queen announce their fate. Personally, I knew she was being whimsical – the British of the 16th century were not long in the cannibalism department. The guys didn't know that she'd been joshing, and would be nervous for a time, but at least they wouldn't be eaten. Still, I was wishing I could assure them of that before they were led away.

With that, she turned on one heel and walked on air back into Hatfield House. The staff returned to their former positions as the guard and I passed, entering the dwelling behind her, though careful not to tread upon the royal brocaded train.

To the right through an open set of French doors, I could see the great hall was decorated with flowers, clearly all chosen for their bright red and deep golden colours. Ribbons in burgundy and golden thread hung lazily, elegantly, below the arrangements, and the long tables were adorned with white cloths and set for at least two hundred guests.

"Oh, look at that, are we having a party?" I asked, worried for the militia blokes, worried for myself, having no idea what to expect, so deciding also to be whimsical. It's how I cope, as you may have noticed.

The Queen turned and faced me. The smirk returned, and her eyes simply would not leave mine. "Indeed _we _are, good stranger," she lilted, relaxing a bit, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Brilliant!" I exclaimed. The door shut hard behind me, and the guard let go upon a subtle nod from the redhead before me.

She tilted her head to one side in an interrogative manner, as if to say, "Are you really going to force me to ask?"

So I answered. "I'm the Doctor," I said. "How do you do, Your Majesty?" I didn't genuflect, I simply gave a respectful bow, feeling rather Japanese in so doing.

"So you _are _aware of your surroundings," she said, her cheeks plumping as she smiled fully. "I thought surely you must be at the very least an idiot." Sarcasm glinted in the unevenness of her eyebrows, an affectation with which I was well familiar.

"No, ma'am. Just from out of town." I wandered over to the open doors and looked about at the regalia, and she followed me, taking her place beside me. Together we admired the décor. "It is your…" I glanced at her sideways, "…eighteenth birthday today, ma'am?"

Her face melted into a reluctant smile. "Twenty-sixth, sir," she said in a low voice. "But something tells me you knew that very well already."

"Well…" I said, by way of confession. We looked at each other and smiled. She immediately corrected herself, and returned to her former state of cool bemusement, but she wasn't fooling me anymore. She had a warmness that had never come through in portraits, and that would be gone from her face in forty years' time. Such a shame what a long, lonely reign would do to her. But today, her features were sharp, efficient almost, very handsome and striking. Piercing eyes that crinkled already, just slightly, at the sides when she smiled. She had a straight nose, slight but supple lips, and her hair hung down her back in a most controversial fashion for the time.

"Then, I suppose it's safe to confess that I know why you've chosen these colours, red and gold," I said. "Since they are hardly befitting the Queen of England." I raised my eyebrows at her, and she did likewise at me.

"Pray tell."

"Philip of Spain," I said. "He's in attendance tonight, is he not?"

"Yes, I wish to welcome him," she answered, with no emotion whatsoever. "We are to be married."

"Oh, come on, Your Majesty," I scolded, laughing a bit, forgetting myself. "Now you and I both know that that's never going to happen!"

She turned and we faced one another properly once more. She again had one eyebrow raised, and a very even tone. "All right, Doctor," she said. "Tonight, you will attend my party. You will dance with me, and I will shamelessly utilise your handsome visage to make my fiancé grievously jealous. And afterwards, you will tell me who you are, why you are dressed in such a manner, how you have come by the knowledge that you possess, and where you apprehended that infernal, aggravating cheek of yours. Are we understood, sir?"

I nodded.

"Excellent," she said. "Now please excuse me, I must ready myself."

"Your Majesty," I said, as she turned to walk away. "What about my friends?"

"Relax, Doctor," she said. "We're not going to eat them. But don't expect to be trotting off into the sunset together unless and until we are good and done with them. On this you cannot sway me. You are suspicious enough, but a curiosity to me, and let's be honest: an attraction. They are merely suspicious, without your unique gifts. I do not advise that any one of you press your luck too hard."

I nodded again.

Again, I was under surveillance. Again, I was something of a prisoner. Again, I was within walls of a strange place where there was an oddly dangerous woman attracted to me.

Given the past month and a half of my life, I was fairly certain I knew what would lead her want my head on a platter in forty years' time.

But first, I had to remember how to dance, and fix my TARDIS.


	25. Spark

Spark

For the purposes of the next event which I shall recount, we'll assume that when I refer to _dancing, _I mean _dancing_. The literal act of moving one's body in time with music in order to achieve an aesthetically pleasing, recreational rapport with another person and/or persons. Usually it's done fully clothed, occasionally with family members, rarely resulting in highly emotional reactions, pregnancy, disease or any particular catharsis. Dancing. You know it – you've done it.

Because there had been times during this life, especially when I was a guest in royal courts making other blokes jealous, when _dancing _had been used as a kinder, gentler word for something entirely different.

But more on that later. Because you've been with me throughout this whole sordid adventure. I think we can dispense with the euphemisms, don't you? At this stage, if I mean shagging, I'll say it. Oh yes.

The Queen just wanted me to dance with her. At least at first. And I knew that, even then. But I also knew that most women (even emotional ones, even redheads, even Queens) don't often order the brutal killing of a man who had done little but dance with them forty years ago, so I reckoned that at some point in the next few days, things would get mightily out of control. I couldn't very well resolve not to let that happen, as it would change the order of things. I stood by the wall, watching the royal birthday festivities, contemplating.

I had dismissed Martha in 1599 when she'd asked whether stepping on a butterfly could change the future of the human race. I had waved it off because I hadn't wanted to engage her – I hadn't, at that point, planned on keeping her around long enough for it to matter (I know, I know). But she had been right. Small things can alter the course of history, or at least the course of one life or another. If Queen Elizabeth I didn't become mightily upset with me in 1559, then her arrival at the Globe in 1599 would not send Martha and me reeling back into the TARDIS, running for our lives. In that case, Will might have had more time to sit and woo his "Dark Lady," and yet more things might have occurred which would have changed Martha's life, our relationship, Will's future works…

Perhaps it was a stupid reason to surrender myself to a certain fate, but the life of a time traveller is a funny old existence. I couldn't risk it.

So I would dance with her, and do pretty much whatever else she asked, knowing that eventually, destiny would come into focus for me.

Every other regeneration (or so), I find that I have something other than two left feet. I've never had much interest in dancing, but sometimes I move well. This body was _all right _in the dancing department (the last one had been better… I suppose one is much more agile in leather than in pinstripes), its appeal having been cultivated as a result of other attributes. But _none _of my incarnations had ever seen the point of learning formal cottillion dances of any sort, and so, right now, I felt very much at a loss. The Queen and her company were currently engaged in something like the 16th-century version of country line dancing or the Electric Slide, and it was all very civilised. I, on the other hand, stood on the sidelines with the footmen. She was smiling in a way that suggested to the commoner that she was enjoying herself, but I recognised a watchfulness. The way she seemed to examine each one of the male partners with whom she locked arms, the way she eyed the other women, took quick, clandestine glances at her surroundings…

And the way she stole looks at me. It made me feel distinctly uneasy, and it wasn't entirely about the future. It wasn't about the militia men still captive, it wasn't about the danger, the gravity of it all, the luxury or the sex. It was something else entirely, which it would take me quite a while to pinpoint. But once I did, I was forced to face myself in a totally different way.

When the music ended, the dancers all laughed in an eerily mirthless way, bowed at each other and dispersed. A man whom I had identified as Philip of Spain attempted to catch the Queen's eye, but she'd have none of it. She made a straight beeline for me, ignoring him entirely.

"Doctor," she said, curtsying ever so slightly.

"Your Majesty," I answered, rather without expression. I did bow slightly, though – I'm not a complete moron.

Her shoulders went slack, and her mouth pursed, and she looked at me with a mixture of confusion and playful annoyance. Then she said, "We must dispense with the titles, sir, if we are to become friends. Only in truth may we be free."

"I don't know what you mean," I lied.

She smirked. "All right, have it your way, Doctor," she said. "But I stand by my assertion that we must extend truth to one another. Surely you could not disagree that this is the best way to interact among amiable mates?"

"I do not disagree, Your Majesty."

"In that case, my true given name, as you must know, is Elizabeth. I request that you call me as such."

"All right." I had to be careful with this one. Whoa, nelly.

"I do not ask you to reveal your true given name at this time," she said. "As you are reluctant to tell this particular verity, I shall call you as _Doctor_ if you wish. I do demand a different sort of truth from you, however."

"And what might that be?"

"Your friends," she said, narrowing her eyes, becoming dangerous once again. "The ones who arrived here with you. They are interesting fellows indeed."

"Yes, they are."

"Cantor claims to be the son of a monk and a nun," she said.

Inwardly, I groaned. I'd given Fekom Katt a very dangerous cover story, quite a careless piece of false intelligence… in Reformation England. Lovely.

"Indeed?" I asked.

"Yes. He was quite forthcoming with that information, which naturally alarms me somewhat. I am a tolerant woman, even tolerant of Catholics because and in spite of my elder sister, and the gore she wrought upon so many of the faithful. I must, however, be wary of Catholic plottings against mine, a new reign, not in the Catholic tradition. They can be a militant lot, as you probably are aware. But, Doctor, as a courtesy to you, I have instructed my interrogators not to… shall we say, _dig too deeply _into Mr. Cantor's Catholic leaning, and what it has to do with his presence here at Hatfield. I will give him the benefit of the doubt, as he is your friend, and assume that he is not a conspirator. He will be held, but not pressed for any further information at this time."

"Thank you, Elizabeth."

"You're welcome, _Doctor."_

But I knew that Fekom Katt's fake Catholic-ness was not the most volatile intelligence that my ignorant militia friends had likely dropped upon Elizabeth and her goons. And it was all my fault. All I'd wanted was to give them ammunition, give them a bit of advantage in this age. Instead, I'd given them a suicide bomb.

"However, it is Roland and Seakind who concern me more," she said. Her eyes were piercing mine, and her lower lip hung slack, revealing clenched teeth.

"They mean no harm, ma'am," I promised her. "They are… not English."

"Oh, but they beg to differ, my Doctor," she told me silkily. "A cousin of Henry Fitzroy? A descendant of William the Conqueror?"

"You know that they must be impostors…"

"It matters not. The mere claim could amount to treason. And their openness in their declaration is worrying indeed."

She was clearly quite concerned, scared for her position, having waited so long to claim her birthright as monarch… but her coolness made me shiver.

She continued. "A cousin to Henry Fitzroy could very well be a cousin to me, Doctor. Cousins of mine, asserting claims to kinship with my father is not a prospect which I relish, as you can imagine. Particularly when it is a man making such statements. My sister Mary did little to endear the idea of a woman in power to the people of this country, and I can hardly blame my English subjects for feeling leery of the fairer sex after her damaging reign. I wish to incur their trust, and I cannot do as such if _a man_ is to put my crown into question, do you see?"

"Of course."

"And a descendant of William the Conqueror could also very well be a relative to me, could also have rights to a position within my domain, Doctor," she said, keeping her voice low.

"Then why not give them one, just to keep them quiet?" I said. "It's easier to catch flies with honey than with… beheading."

She smiled slightly. "Oh, my dear, I'd sooner die myself than bring fear of execution upon a family member, after the terror and anguish I suffered in the Tower at the behest of my sister," she told me. I smirked back at her, knowing the eventual bloody fate of her cousin, the Queen of Scots. "However, I cannot have them roving about unchecked, either."

"So what do you plan to do?" I asked.

"Would you care to dance?" she asked.

* * *

The TARDIS had suffered what amounted, in human terms, to a bop on the head. She'd been knocked unconscious, and the insides had gone dark, much as a human might lapse into a coma. The Time Rotor had been damaged, and she had gone into a rarely-used protocol, emergency temporal shift. Normally, I wouldn't have minded, but this particular time, I was rather angry with my vessel. I knew she had had no choice, hadn't been particularly sentient when the protocol had kicked in, but it's like being angry with a dead relative: not rational, but real. I muttered and cursed at her (gently) as I stuck my head under the console to begin fixing the problem. I was even more dismayed when I realised that there was nothing I could do. She simply needed to convalesce. The only thing that would cure her was time. Well, obviously.

I'd been afraid of just that. I'd hoped that I'd find she needed some vital, very rare herb only available at the time in South America, so that I'd have an excuse to break my new friends out of jail and go on a trek to El Dorado or something, but no such luck. It seemed I'd have to bide my time with the Queen until I could find a way to slip out. Because I knew there wasn't a chance she'd let me just walk away. And unless I had a good solid plan for getting far, far away from here, I needed to stick close.

And so, Elizabeth and I began a strange sort of friendship. It was a friendship that meant we were everything _except_ actual friends.

* * *

The day after her twenty-sixth birthday party, Elizabeth caught up with me in the forest. She said she was out for her morning constitutional, but I suspected she'd been looking for me. For my part, I was on my way back to Hatfield house from the TARDIS. She was well within the sights of my blue box when she found me, but she didn't seem to notice it.

She took my arm and we began to walk parallel to the house.

"So," I said, taking a deep breath, marvelling at the cleanliness of the pre-industrial air. "It's past noon. Just now stepping out for your _morning_ constitutional?"

I noticed then that she never seemed to express a _single_ emotion; her looks conveyed a consistent (or inconsistent) _mixture_ of sentiment. This time, it was shock and amusement. "My Doctor, you _are _quite impertinent!"

I smiled. "Sorry, Your Majesty. Sometimes I can't help myself."

Reluctantly she said, "Quite all right, really. Truth be told, you're not wrong. I did just emerge from my chamber not more than an hour ago. I must apologise for the disarrayed state of my dress."

"Er," I said, resisting the urge to look her up and down. "Well, as long as you're apologetic about it."

Needless to say, I had noticed absolutely nothing out-of-place about her dress. She looked that morning only a step or two down from the formal portraits I'd seen of her throughout the ages. There was no cape nor headdress nor sceptre, but miles and miles of golden train was in all its glory and her corset was pulled so tight, you could have fit her waist into my trouser cuff.

Again, she regarded me with shock and amusement, then her face melted once more into a soft smile. "You tease."

"Yeah, well, call it a hobby," I joshed. "And in that vein, how's our Spanish Philip this fine morn... sorry, afternoon?"

"Impertinent!" she squealed delightedly.

"Here's a word you might want to remember for future reference: _cheeky_. It means impertinent, but takes less time to say. Start a trend."

She laughed. "Is there a word for _decorum_ that takes less time to say? Because I think it's something _you_ should learn, dear man."

I was quiet for a moment. She asked what was wrong.

"I'm trying to think of a shorter word for _evasive_," I told her. I don't know what I thought gave me the right to imply that the Queen of England owed me an explanation for anything. Moreover, I have no idea what made her feel compelled to give me one.

"Fine," she said, a bit more seriously. "If you must know, I have no idea how our Spanish Philip is this fine afternoon, as I have not seen him since I departed my _fête_ with my ladies in tow. That was at half-past two. Mind you, I had had my share of wine, but going to bed with that brute? I'd remember that if even if I were a corpse."

"Mm, interesting image."

"Besides, I am not yet married," she said. "I could not think of jeopardising the line of succession in such a way, as to bed down indiscriminately."

"Indiscriminately? With the King of Spain? I'd like to know who you'd consider a good catch, then," I muttered. "But that's right. I'm sorry, I forgot. You're the Virgin Queen."

Her eyebrows rose as she looked at me. I was just full of surprises today. "That's right," she told me. I could feel her closing off from me, putting her guard up.

I knew it wasn't true. But even in my current braying ass-like phase of life, I could not attack the virtue of a lady, especially not one who, as I well knew, could order, and achieve, my beheading any time she so chose. Besides, I think she knew I was onto her. Something in the way she pointed her chin at me just then, and averted her face slightly away from me suggested a sort of wisdom. That feeling came back to me from the night before; I had not yet pinpointed what made me feel drawn to her, but with that expression, I felt something definite.

"So, if you're all about the marriage thing, then," I said. "When's the big day?"

"Philip and I have not yet decided on a date," she said, pulling her arm away from me, and fidgeting with her fingers.

"Oh? Why not? Seems as though the Parliament would force you to decide," I said. "Especially with him being here, on the Isle and all."

"The Parliament are not, in fact, my keepers, Doctor," she said defensively. "He and I have simply not had sufficient opportunity to court one another, which is important before deciding upon a wedding date."

"And, well, you'll be wanting him to lose a few pounds before he tries to squeeze into his formal tunic. No-one likes a fat English king. Best give it a year or two, eh?"

This time, she did not feign shock. It was genuine. She stopped, turned and looked at me squarely. I realised only later why I was taunting her. As I said, it took me a while to pinpoint the connection I was making with her.

"But you best not wait too long," I continued, digging myself in deeper. "Wouldn't want anyone to think that you're using your marital hand as a diplomatic tool or anything."

Her jaw actually dropped there. I stood and looked at her with steel eyes, wondering what the hell I was doing, baiting her like that.

"Doctor, all jests aside," she said. "You are out of line."

"I know, it's weird," I said. "I'm not sure why I've done that."

"Obviously, you know that I have no intention of marrying Philip of Spain, and what I want to know is how you know." She was very serious.

"I just do. Obviously _you _know that I'm not like most blokes. I'm perceptive in a way that no-one else in the universe can claim. It's hard to explain."

"Try."

I decided to go for the domestic approach. "All right. I know that you have lived most of your life under someone's thumb. I know who your father was."

"My father was a great man," she said, through clenched teeth. "He brought England out from beneath the tyranny of Rome."

I wanted to say: _sure, so he could discard his wife._

"He brought about a new age of female rule."

I wanted to say: _he had your mother killed because she didn't give him a son._

"He was a great lover of women!"

I wanted to say: _yeah, no joke!_

But I didn't say any of the things that I was thinking. I was much more diplomatic, which I knew the good Queen would appreciate.

"King Henry was an innovator and a maverick," I said. "And you are your father's daughter. And that is why I know that you will never compromise your position as one of the civilised world's few female monarchs by taking a husband."

"You think you know me," she said, her eyes narrow.

"I know a lot about you," I said. "And I know you better than I did yesterday. That's something."

"Do you know what I'm thinking now?" she asked. The smirk returned, and she looked me over. I knew that look.

"I can guess," I said, being _impertinent_ again. And an egomaniac, I have to say.

But I was wrong.

That infernal mouth of mine. I hope the eleventh body will be the strong silent type.


	26. Challenge

**Two titanic personalities: the Doctor and the Queen need to spar. I hope you enjoy these little talks.**

* * *

Challenge

I'd been upgraded from sharing the servants' quarters to a fully-fledged guest room.

Since I got to be alone, that night, I sonicked my way through Hatfield House and snuck out to the livery where Katt, Rolor and Cecon were being held. The house was only guarded in the immediate vicinity of the Queen - exits, staircases, corners near her chamber. The rest was not, and around the livery itself, I could see no one for miles. When I saw the conditions, I could see why. Sure, they kept horses here, in large wooden stalls like normal folk. But the giant stone walls and floors were a dead giveaway that the livery wasn't just a _makeshift_ prison. It was built with the intent of doubling as a prisoner's hold.

It was early in the evening, only nine or so, but plenty dark in the woods.

Rolor, to his credit, had made friends with the horses. This made me like him slightly better. He actually seemed in his element among the creatures, while the other two alternately kept clear of them, or seemed afraid.

As I'd imagined, the men thought I'd come to break them out. I explained, though, about my jaunt into Shakespeare's time with Martha, and why I couldn't just unchain them and run off. They looked at me like I had nine heads.

"So let me get this straight," Cecon said, standing with his legs apart, trying to put it all into perspective. "You _want_ to piss off the Queen?"

"I don't _want _to," I said. "But my travels tell me that I'm going to. I have to."

"Well, what would make her more angry than breaking her prisoners out?" Katt asked, enthusiastically.

"I can't, Fekom Katt, I'm sorry. It's just that I don't have a clue yet what's going on, and until I do, I have to play the game her way. At the moment, we have nowhere to go because my ship is damaged, and to have the three of you wandering about here and now is _so _not a good idea. You lot are liable to get killed."

"We'll be careful!" Rolor protested, finally pulling himself away from a white mare whose nose he'd been stroking.

"I don't know if there's any measure of careful that you could possibly be. Do you men know why she's keeping you locked up?"

They looked at each other blankly, then back at me.

I sighed. "She thinks you're here to overthrow her. And it's my fault, because I gave you information that I shouldn't have, but I didn't know that we were going to run into the Queen."

I explained the politics of being Catholic, and having ties to Henry Fitzroy and William the Conqueror. They all groaned in turn, and sat down on various crates and buckets to brood.

"You're _supposedly_ our friend, Doctor," Rolor protested. He was losing points again. "Why doesn't she think you're one of us? Why aren't you locked up in here?"

"Frankly, because she likes me."

"Oh, fantastic," Cecon said, throwing up his hands.

"But I promise," I said emphatically. "As soon as I have a solid plan that won't get us all executed, I'll come back for you. You rescued me, now trust that I will do the same for you."

Fekom Katt shook my hand, palm-to-wrist. "Good faith, Doctor. We'll trust you."

The other two grunted inarticulately, as though they had a choice.

* * *

After I left them, I went and communed with my TARDIS, whose pink interior lights had come on dimly. This was good; it meant progress. I apologised to her for getting angry before, I lay down on the metal floor near the console with my hand on the cold metal beneath the controls, and against my will, I fell asleep.

When I snuck out of the TARDIS three hours later, it was with a good feeling that our communing had helped her heal. That's the magic of the Time Lord-TARDIS relationship. We're kindred. Without one another we are lost, and together, we're stronger. It had been ages since I'd simply calmed down and communicated with her alone. I think the kip rejuvenated us both. Good – all the better for us to make a quick departure.

But it also meant that whatever was going to happen with the Queen would happen in short order. I reasoned, the quicker it went, the more brutal it would likely be.

It was around midnight, and the royal household was long-since in for the night. In London, they might still be out and about, but not at Hatfield. Barring any birthdays, this was not a place where the Queen came to party.

I'd just slept for a few hours, and I don't need as much sleep as a human anyhow, so I decided to wander the grounds a bit, while the world was at rest. No harm getting the lay of the land, especially if I was a semi-prisoner here. I'd probably have to break my friends out of the livery someday soon, so yeah, I wanted to know where the hell I was going.

I was passing by an outward alcoved portion of the house, when I heard "Psst."

I looked about, not immediately able to discern where the sound had come from. I heard it again, followed by a voice saying, "Look up!"

I did. The Queen was standing in the window with one arm extended out to open the blurry latticed glass. I reckoned she'd shooed off her ladies-in-waiting tonight, since she was wearing only a corset and the ruffly under-slip which cradled her bosom. Had her ladies been there, they would have dressed her in a white tunic of a night shirt and unwound her hair. As she appeared now, it was still tied in several elaborate knots at the back of her head.

"But soft," I said. "What light through yonder window breaks?"

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," I told her. "Just wait a couple decades and it'll make more sense. Good evening, Your Majesty."

"Elizabeth," she corrected. "Please."

I just smiled, and nodded in concession. Then I asked, "What are you doing awake at this hour? Does not the Queen of this great land need her beauty rest?"

"Oh, indeed," she said. "But alas, I am unable to settle for the night, as something is plaguing me. Would you come up, dear Doctor?"

My eyebrows raised. Was I seriously being invited into the royal inner sanctum?

"Don't seem so surprised," she advised me. "My guards are well aware that I have been expecting you. But walk with a soft step so as not to rouse the household, and with them, their suspicions. Having a gentleman caller at midnight is not befitting of an unmarried Queen."

I saluted her casually and pursed my lips, walking toward the nearest entrance to Hatfield House. To my surprise, the thug at the door let me right in, even nodding a greeting at me, though grudgingly. This made me decidedly uncomfortable. Leave it to me to feel chagrined over being _let in_ to a house. But somehow, officially sanctioned cloistering of me was what was coming to mind. It meant that Elizabeth had something up her sleeve, and had informed her staff. I shivered a bit as I crossed the threshold into a part of the house I hadn't yet seen.

I began to pad up the stairs, thinking it was fortuitous that I'd long ago chosen to wear these ever-so-chic trainers with this body, instead of the Frankenstein-like combat boots some of my other incarnations had fancied. I was light on my feet as I went up. I realised about halfway to the top step that I had no idea where to go after that. Yeah, turn right, but once that was done, which room was it?

Again, to my surprise, the thug at the top of the stairs motioned with a jerk of his head for me to follow him. He led me to a great ornate wooden door with a brass knocker and a depiction of the Book of Revelations carved into what looked to me like oak. I thought it somehow fitting that I was about to walk into the bedchamber of a half-naked, and mightily clever, Queen, and the end of the world was staring me in the face.

The thug used the knocker to make our presence known, and then he walked away and re-manned his place at the top of the stairs.

"Enter," the voice said from inside. I obeyed. As I crossed into the yellow-lit, heavily brocaded, incredibly warm bedroom, she said, "Lock it again, if you please."

"So, Elizabeth," I sighed. "What's on your mind?"

"Oh, so much, Doctor. Not the least of which this constant mask that you wear."

"Oh, _I'm_ the problem?"

"Don't misunderstand me, sir. It's not that I don't enjoy viewing the visage that said mask provides," she said, walking toward me. "But there is a barrier between us, and I feel that nothing should come between us."

"Really?" I asked sceptically.

"So once again I shall ask for your honesty, Doctor. It has come to my attention that you visited your three friends in the livery earlier this evening. Is that true, or did my guards bear me false witness?"

"It's true," I said.

"What was your intention?"

"Just to... I don't know, touch base, see how they're doing."

"Did you attempt to free them?"

"No," I said truthfully. "They asked me to, but I declined. I am not ready to leave here quite so hastily."

"Indeed, Doctor," Elizabeth whispered, getting much, much closer to me. She reached out and touched my tie, and played with the soft fabric between her thumb and middle finger just a bit. "Indeed, I do not want you to leave so hastily either. Especially in that it would not happen that way, and you would be captured immediately and added to the livery prisoners' roster."

"Is that so?"

"Oh yes," she said, her eyes wide, her mouth delighted. Something about this expression unnerved me. It was the beginning of a realisation for me.

"I see," I said, not moving my lips.

"So I must ask you: did you plan on returning to the livery to pay your friends a call?"

"Probably."

"In that case, in light of the projected menace that your comrades pose to me, and the inherent danger in your proximity both to me and to them, I must warn you," she lectured. "That if I should catch you in so clandestine an endeavour again, I shall be obliged to impede you."

It was a threat.

And it made my skin crawl.

_If I should catch you again, I shall be obliged to impede you._

Translated for modern audiences: _If you don't back off, then I'll have to stop you._

Now where had I heard that before?

Suddenly, it all made sense. I was drawn inexplicably to this woman. I had tried to explore my feelings about it – why was she so magnetic? She hadn't had a reputation in history for being particularly charismatic or beautiful, but to me, she was an orchid in a field of daisies. It wasn't a Reinette thing – they had a great big zero in common, as far as personality. I hadn't thought it was sexual, and I was right, it was more visceral than that. She didn't remind me of Rose or Martha or Donna or Astrid or River or anyone else in that realm.

But the way she looked down her nose amusedly at me when I was being _impertinent_, the way she'd said _oh yes_ with that maniacal delight, the way she'd said she'd stop me if I went too far. And the physical description I'd catalogued before: sharp, almost efficient features, very striking. Piercing eyes that crinkled at the sides when she smiled. She had a straight nose, slight but supple lips, and controversial hair.

Sound like anyone _you_ know?

Dear God, she reminded me of myself. Oh, I had some serious issues to work through before I could die. I knew I had an ego problem, but this? And in that moment, I knew I'd be canoodling with the Queen before too long, and it wasn't just her demanour that said it – it was my own infernal internal musings.

Whoa.

No wonder she'd wind up wanting my head on a stake.

"Point taken," I said, in response to her promise to keep me from seeing my friends. I was also a little miffed at myself because I'd been pretty sure that no one had seen me.

"And on to other things, then," she said. "I don't remain friends for long with individuals who will not reveal their true monikers." She had her head tilted slightly back, and her demeanour suggested relaxed concentration. She wasn't going to bend, and she wasn't joking around.

"Elizabeth, I'm sorry. I cannot tell you that."

"Do you know how many people in this realm are permitted to call me Elizabeth?"

"No, I don't."

"Just one. You. Any others who held that privilege are deceased. And yet you refuse me the courtesy of allowing me to do the same for you. Why, Doctor?"

I didn't answer. I looked back at her the way she was looking at me. Unbendable and serious. I didn't care who she was. The cosmos didn't care who she was. She would call me Doctor like just about everyone else in the universe. People I had loved and respected beyond words would never know my name, and that's just the way it was.

For a long time, it seemed we were at an impasse. She wanted to know, and I wasn't going to tell her. She was determined to find out, but I could not bend even if I'd wanted to. Kindred spirits, I now realised. Two insufferable personalities cut from the same incredibly stubborn, vain cloth.

"Why do you challenge me?" she asked at last.

"Because..." I took a deep breath, held it for a split second, then sighed. "You seem to like it."

"Cheeky," she smirked. "Did I use that term correctly?"

"Perfectly," I told her, also smirking.

She sighed as well, and made her way back toward the window where I'd first seen her. She did have graceful movements and I wasn't complaining about the outfit. I was seeing Queen Elizabeth in her underwear. If I had "guys," they'd never believe it!

"The fact is, Doctor," she told me. "I'm surrounded constantly by people who cater to my every whim. _Yes, Your Majesty. No, Your Majesty. I agree with you completely, ma'am, what an astute observation!_ It's dreadfully boring! I overcame so much adversity to be where I am; my mother..." she stopped and looked at me with fright in her eyes. Then she changed her tack. "I overcame adversity. I'm accustomed to adversity. I thrive upon it. Yes, I have the Catholics trying to overthrow me, and the traditionalists as well, but I have no-one to talk to. The guards and my ladies-in-waiting... well. They might as well be furniture for all the comfort and interest they provide."

Lonely and balks at talking of her family. This was getting uncanny.

"All right, then," I reasoned aloud. "Then you don't really want me to tell you my name. You just want to badger me until it stops being fun."

"Well, perhaps," she admitted, smiling coyly. "But I'd like to know. It would show an understanding, a kinship."

Something in her eyes really was lonely, and seemed to be begging me to make this concession. She was no longer the Queen throwing her weight around. She was a woman asking a man to open up. And more than usual, I couldn't do it.

"I'm sorry."

She was deflated. Her shoulders sank, and she turned back to the window. "So be it, Doctor." She turned toward me again, very suddenly, and her Queenliness flashed once more in her eyes. "If I cannot appeal to your sense of kinship, then I will appeal to your manhood."

She advanced on me, and I instinctively pressed my back against a gigantic wardrobe behind me. Before I knew what was happening, her hand was between my legs, gripping me tightly. Though, notice I didn't say it was unpleasant.

"I still can't tell you my name," I gulped, hardening in her hand.

"Oh, have it your way," she mewled coquettishly, now stroking me through my trousers, showing her power over me. "But I will have you know that I do not like being toyed with. I do not like being proved or exposed. You have committed a grievous sin, Doctor, by laying open my tricks. I am a woman in a man's world, and the tools I use are my own. How dare you try to impugn my diplomacy." She was squeezing tighter now, and my pinstripes were growing more and more misshapen. The anger in her eyes was giving me a thrill, and I wondered if that's what had appealed so much to Maggie; the anger in me, the hatred. I could see it reflected now in the sharp face of Elizabeth.

"But is it untrue? Are you not planning forever to use your unmarried status as a chess piece in the game of foreign relations... Elizabeth?"

She narrowed her eyes and the tips of her slightly elfin ears turned bright pink. Suddenly, her lips were pressed against mine, and my head became very well-acquainted with a sharp edge in the carving of the oaken wardrobe. I wondered which morbid Biblical scene was currently digging into my skull.

Her tongue curled uncharacteristically shyly into my mouth, and I sucked at it, alternatingly giving her mine to play with as well. The words, _I'm snogging Queen Elizabeth I _popped into my head, and I longed to say them out loud. This was a much bigger coup than that Frenchwoman, what was her name again? Elizabeth was nowhere near as beautiful, but she was a lot more famous, and famously unattainable. By now, I'd fully realised my potential to be a complete arse, to take advantage of my surroundings, and to enjoy this weird attractiveness of mine while it lasted. Who cared if she was the Queen? I was the Doctor, damn it! And it would make a mighty good story later, even if it meant she'd someday come after me with bows and arrows and orders of dismemberment.

"Of course it's untrue," she panted, pulling away from me. She took my hands and started pulling me toward the bed. She backed up to it and sat down. "I'm to marry soon."

"Well then, someone ought to let Spanish Philip in on the secret."

"I'll let him know, certainly," she said, smiling up at me. "But I won't marry him."

With that, she spread her legs and smiled. She gestured for me to kneel, and I obeyed. She pulled the skirt of her slip up above her knees, showing me her freckled, white English thighs.

"Be gentle with me," she whispered. "I am a virgin, you know."


	27. Engaged

Engaged

When my tongue began the process of inducing a parade of royal orgasms, I was sure of two things. One: The Virgin Queen was no virgin. Even history would tell us that. She'd likely thrown that to the wind at fourteen (or had it thrown for her) with Thomas Seymour. Not that I thought it would be a good idea to say so, given that historians were unclear whether she'd been raped or simply precocious. And two: I was in a whole mess of trouble. But I'd known that was coming, so… let the good times roll, eh?

I was also now, more or less, her servant.

But you know, I could think of worse jobs.

However, considering our final exchange before all hell broke loose, I thought I knew what was really in store. The Queen did not like being told she could not or would not do something; she was her father's daughter. When the Pope said he couldn't have his divorce, he created a new faith – how many people could say that?

And so, when I'd said to Elizabeth that she'd never marry, and would always use her hand as a diplomatic tool, well, I suppose she might have thought I was calling her a coward or something. So, I guess I became her diplomatic tool. Very fitting – I'd been a tool for a couple of months now, why not put it to use in diplomacy? I don't know what international alliance she thought she could make with me at her side, but well… stubborn is stubborn. The irony is that if I'd chosen, I could have ushered England, and the human race, into an intergalactic age five hundred years early. I could also have had my head chopped off forty years prematurely, considering that this lot was still not quite over Galileo. Yeah – maybe they weren't ready to know I was an alien.

So even before the chief guard broke the lock on the door and came bursting into the room in a most contrived manner, demanding that I unhand the Queen, I began to try and think of ways to get out of the pickle she'd put me in. The delight on Elizabeth's face when we were caught (quite apart from the healthy pink blush of pleasure) told me I was right. I liked Elizabeth, but not _that _much. Then again, my head on a platter…

Her moaning was truly prolific; this was not a woman who was inexperienced in these matters. She knew how to feel pleasure, knew what to do with it, how to channel it through her extremities and back down. The sound was beautiful, as I noticed then what a truly lovely voice she had. She lay at the edge of the bed and kept her thighs open for me – no attempt to clamp shut, nor any sudden shyness. Sometimes she sat up and looked at me, and her brow, I could see, was soaked. Her light red hair was coming loose and becoming more caked to her head.

Up to climax, and then down again, she slid easily over and over for the next hour. Her body flushed and her throat gave me every cue I needed. She trembled like a leaf whenever she was close, and all I had to do was not stop. It's easy to please even royal women if you listen and pay attention. She made it even easier. For my part, I was aroused, yes, but knowing the situation as I did, I was fairly certain I'd not be seeing any relief tonight.

And just as I was beginning to really lament this, and really wish that Elizabeth were a normal woman with no agenda, in came Brutus. Actually, his name was Fitzwilliam, I just fancied him a Brutus because he was like a human battering ram. The noise was like eighteen frying pans all falling to a wooden floor at once. A guard, one I hadn't seen before, exploded through the Revelations door, splintering it in places, seeing me kneeling on the floor with my head between the Queen's lovely thighs, the Queen writhing above, gripping the beadspread and pounding it in some sort of protest.

Of course we all knew it was no protest, but it _could_ have appeared that way to an imprudent observer. Not that Fitzwilliam was any such thing. He knew exactly what was happening. He'd probably been standing outside listening ever since I'd shut the door behind me.

"Unhand my Queen, interloper, and back away slowly!"

* * *

No surprise, Queen Elizabeth I of England, daughter of the founder of the Church of England, sister of the woman to whom history refers as Bloody Mary, "refused" to admit, or even feign, disgrace. Of course, she claimed that she and I were betrothed all along, and that any pretentions Philip of Spain may have had were entirely erroneous, and her goodwill had been mistaken for romantic advances. She apologised in a most regal and, might I add, insincere fashion, for having so callously toyed, however unknowingly, with the affections of such a great and noble man, blah blah blah…

I really _really_ want to use the phrase "Drama Queen,"' but I won't. I'll just take the high road and leave it there.

Our engagement was announced rather quietly and matter-of-factly, and Elizabeth acted as though anyone who had not heretofore heard thus was, pardon our French, a bloody cretin. The wedding was in two weeks, a close-set date because officially, the engagement had been extant for quite some time. I said almost nothing about the affair; I just kept, on this rare occasion, my thoughts, to myself. I was the elusive, hardly-seen fiancé (as I thought it wise to keep myself out of paintings and accounts of events), sort of a mystery to the gentry. It's not as though I was expected to escort her to the Oscars or to humanitarian missions in Africa – I was just a commoner who was to be the Queen's consort. No-one cared unduly about me, really. Elizabeth's devil-may-care attitude even succeeded in silencing the naysayers for a time. Nevertheless, I was grateful that there were no paparazzi in the 16th century. And when anyone asked, my name, origins, strange style of dress, totally weird demeanour and sudden appearance were skillfully glossed over. No-one cared enough to dare push; no-one at this time in history yet understood the significance of Queen Elizabeth I becoming engaged.

Almost as soon as it began, Elizabeth was acting in private much as in public. When we were together, we were a couple, and she never once asked me what I thought of it, nor so much as hinted at the ruse that had been played out in order to gain what she wanted from me. She took my arm when we walked, fluttered around me like Tinkerbell, batted her eyes, called me pet names, discussed our nuptials and had me moved up into the main part of the house into a bedchamber adjacent to hers. Again, I said almost nothing. She didn't need me to; she was happy living in what she _must_ have known was an impermanent fantasy. She had contrived it after all, in its writhing, screaming, door-busting, exquisite glory, and her guards had been in on it. Did she honestly think she could tie me down? The answer to that question, I reckon, I'll never really know.

But the thing that clinched it, the thing that really made us a properly betrothed couple of the era was our behaviour after dark. She was the Virgin Queen; most young unmarried women of the time professed virginity. Half of them were lying outright, and of the remainder, half of _those_ kept their virtue strictly in the technical sense. So many girls at the time would allow their men (and others' men) to do highly improper things to them and with them, becoming quite familiar with the art and craft of lovemaking, without ever, erm… driving the point home, as it were.

Most of it was, of course, for appearances' sake, and thus went our relationship until the day we were married. Even moments never, ever witnessed by anyone else were kept for appearances. Elizabeth, though a queen but not a virgin, was still the Virgin Queen, and she'd have had me believe it until the end of time if I'd let her. So I'd retire to my chamber at the end of the evening, and after the household was asleep, I would sneak across the hall to rap upon Elizabeth's heavy oak door of Revelations. For those two weeks, we did fun things in the dark (though sometimes by candle light), things whereby Elizabeth could continue to tell me she was virtuous. My tongue would not take her virginity, nor would my fingers, evidently. The burn of my eyes upon her body as I witnessed her pleasing herself would not leave permanent scars. The fabled Maidenhead was not to be found in her throat, therefore, she had no objection to the prodigiously engorged phallus traversing the body royal thusly. No evidence of impropriety would remain upon breasts properly handled or judiciously licked.

She was a prodigy. Downright miraculous (can you hear me scoffing?). As I lay flat on my back, panting, practically cross-eyed, after having been treated very much like a bottle rocket being fired into a rough sea cave, she sat up on her heels and peered over me, then hid her eyes. "I don't know where that came from!" she exclaimed. "Did you like it? Yes?"

I was too far gone to answer intelligently, so I mumbled some affirmative answer, and watched her pretend to be astonished at her own random, innate skill.

After treating me to a bit of a wanton display of roving hands, nudity and short, high screams, she covered herself from head-to-toe with her discarded nightie, and threw her arm over her eyes. "Please don't think less of me," she begged. "I am as one possessed!"

I was so ready to pounce by then, I didn't have a single coherent thought. So once again, I mumbled and nodded.

As you can see, we indulged ourselves plenty. For my part, though, unless I was in a full-force, home-stretch drive toward the finish line, I did a bit too much thinking. Well, I always do that, I don't I? I wondered sometimes what she would do when the wedding night came and I found out definitively that she wasn't as pure as she'd have me believe. I wondered if she would go to the trouble of procuring a penetrable pigskin and blood capsule to simulate the experience on my account, or if she'd just make up a story. I thought constantly about how to get out of this mess, and I thought, in spite of myself, of the hearts I'd racked up and broken along the way. I was a fairly detached lover, though I can't say I wasn't enjoying myself.

* * *

Two nights before the wedding, Elizabeth was lying with her head on my stomach after some fairly interesting interaction. I caught her gazing at the not-quite-finished yellow and ivory gown hanging on the outside of the wardrobe, its shoulders seven feet from the ground in order to accommodate the train. She caught me catching her, and she smiled shyly. It was one of the few honest emotions I'd seen her experience. At least in bed.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, of course it's lovely," I agreed.

"And a symbol of something very important," she told me. She raised her head to look at me. "We shall make vows, my dear, and in spite of my father's favourable reforms, I must believe that these vows are unbreakable."

I nodded, waiting for more.

"Once married, we are one on this Earth," she continued. "I should die without you, and you should die without me."

'_Til death do us part._

Half an hour later, she was sawing logs, but I wasn't asleep. In fact, I was in one of those states that threatened to convince me I'd never sleep again. I was wired.

I moved out from underneath her, and she stirred. "Where are you going, love?" she asked, her eyes still shut. I was fairly certain that she was asleep.

I stood up and began to dress. "I am suffering from a bout of insomnia," I whispered. "Fresh air will do me good."

She groaned and turned on her side, curled up like a little crescent moon.

I slipped out of the bedroom, and into the woods.


	28. Married

Married

And so I swapped vows with the Queen of England at a small chapel a few miles from Hatfield House, with less pomp and circumstance than you might think. The TARDIS was not ready yet, or trust me, I'd have high-tailed it off that island quicker than you can say Fish 'n' Chips. I'd inserted myself into history (pardon the pun), and that was bad. Very, very bad.

There were a few ladies-in-waiting, attending to Elizabeth. And to my surprise, when I walked into the chapel, escorted by Brutus, a.k.a. Fitzwilliam, my new friends from Seulia Major were in the room. And that was it. It was a mightily private affair, though the place was heavily guarded.

As we climbed into the royal coach and headed back down the road to Hatfield, I commented, "You had my friends brought in."

She smiled. I had to admit, she looked rather radiant in that yellow and ivory gown. "It's my wedding gift to you, my dear."

"Thank you," I said, rather surprised. "Do you know what would be the most beautiful gift of all?"

She smiled. "Yes, and you shall have it," she said. "After the wine is drunk, our guests are exhausted and the doors are closed." She leaned in and kissed me softly on the cheek, lingering intentionally to let me feel the warmth of her breath on my skin. I can't say it didn't succeed in distracting me for a moment.

I feigned impish embarrassment. "Well, that goes without saying," I chuckled. "But… there is something else."

"Yes?"

"Please allow my friends to attend the party, and then have secure accommodations within the house," I asked. "After all, I am the consort to the Queen, and they are my friends. The stable doesn't really suit them."

"Very well," she said, without hesitation, biting my earlobe. "They shall occupy the outermost room of the northern wing. I suppose the cold season is fast approaching anyhow."

If I had been a true husband put into this position, I would have asked how long she planned on keeping them against their will at Hatfield, but to me, it didn't matter. I knew we'd all be out of there soon, and it wasn't important how many locks and keys there were.

When we arrived at the house, the coach door was open and a footman was clearing his throat to get us to pull our lips away from one another. Then, we were escorted into the great hall, where Elizabeth had held her 26th birthday. The room was set up with yellow and ivory flowers and decorations, enough for an elegant, but intimate, dinner of celebration. A few family members had come from other parts of the country for the dinner party, most notably from her mother's side. But it was still such a small affair, not exactly fit for a queen. I was still caught up in the whirlwind, as it were, and perplexed by the whole thing.

As I watched her dance with one of her Howard cousins, a phrase came into my mind once again. _'Til death do us part,_ I had said, vowing before God and a small group of important people, to stay faithful at Elizabeth's side until one of us died. And I remembered her words from a couple of nights before.

And I realised it was my only way out. But since Elizabeth still had at least another forty-four years to go, I knew that the dead one was going to have to be me.

What the hell? I knew I was going to die soon anyway. Why not let it be in 1559?

Fortunately, the last time I'd slipped out of her bedroom and into the TARDIS, I'd seen that she was almost ready for a departure. I could now pinpoint the day and time.

* * *

The night was unseasonably warm, and after the party, we ascended the stairs together, with the household waving us off, into Elizabeth's (our) quarters. The room was, of course, already stately and sumptuous, but tonight it was adorned with extra flowers, ribbons, gauze, glass trinkets, vines and crimson silk bedclothes. In spite of having spent the last fortnight in this room doing very un-British things with her, I felt out-of-place. Elizabeth had never asked me to wear anything other than my own clothes, and so I began my Renaissance wedding night by stepping out of a pair of Converse and pulling my blue and brown Harrod's tie loose from my neck.

As I did that, she came round the bed and took the hand that was currently at my throat. I stopped and looked at her. Again, I noticed how lovely she was, how sharp and young she looked. Her face was bathed in candle light, and it reflected a great measure of distress. I waited for her to speak.

"Doctor," she said. "Before we embark upon this night, this journey… I want you to know something."

I gulped. "Yes?"

"This is all a farce."

"I know, Elizabeth."

"All a farce. The wedding, the engagement, even the last fortnight…" she trailed off, and her eyes wandered from mine. She sat down softly on the bed. "…at least, that is how it was meant. Tonight, I am less certain."

"What do you mean?"

She looked up at me. She wasn't crying, but she looked like she wanted to. "All I wanted was to play about with you. Assert my power over you, and watch you flail. But you did not flail. You have been steadfast."

I didn't say anything, I just waited for her to finish.

"I expected you to do something untoward long before now, and find yourself thrown in the stable with your friends. But you chose to play my game with me."

My eyes wandered toward the bed. "Well, there are worse ways to spend fourteen nights, my Queen."

She ignored my comment, and looked down at the floor. "And so, against everything I ever thought, every belief I ever held for my reign over this great land, I find myself married." Then she looked back up at me, worry in her eyes. "And I'm glad of it. Joyful, as a matter of fact. And that frightens me."

I sighed. "Elizabeth…" I reached out to touch her, but she pushed my hands gently away.

She stood up once again, and I instinctively took a step backward. "Though you are a clever man, even cleverer than I, and have undoubtedly come to certain conclusions on your own, I feel that I would like to be honest. I see no further reason to carry on with the farce, especially since it seems that I have lost at my own game."

"All right."

She continued. "I orchestrated our first liaison so as to be caught by Fitzwilliam. He was privy to the plan."

"I know."

"I became engaged to you, not to avoid disgrace, but to challenge you as I felt that you challenged me. You said I would never marry – I wanted to prove you wrong."

"I know."

She nodded. "I'm sure that you do." She took a deep breath. "And though the engagement has been a farce, because you have been kind and steadfast and dutiful, the farce became something I could no longer endure. I now believe that I love you."

That, I did not know. And I didn't handle it very well. "What?" I asked.

"And though you have convincingly played the part of the smitten fiancé, I do not believe that you love me."

I averted my eyes. Blimey, why couldn't we have waited just one more week to get married? One more week, and I could have been gone, and not have to put either one of us through this. Suddenly, the path to an attempted beheading in 1599 was becoming much clearer.

I sighed. "You are correct, Elizabeth. I don't love you," I said gently.

She nodded in concession. "Thank you for being honest with me." Her eyes darted round the room nervously, and she asked, "Under the circumstances, Doctor, what shall we do now?"

If I had been a different sort of bloke, or even at a different point in my life or in a different state of mind, I might have said that I thought it was best, under the circumstances, for me just to go to sleep across the hall, and we would discuss our unfortunate situation in the morning. In Elizabethan England, there were options for this sort of thing; annulment and divorce were possible.

But you know me.

"What do we do? We have a truly spectacular wedding night, that's what we do. What have we gone through all of this for, if we don't get the prize at the end?"

I half expected her to recoil from me wanting to carry on with wedding-night mischief when I'd already said I didn't love her. But the Virgin Queen smiled at me wickedly, and she kissed me with an abandon I'd never seen in her before.

She crossed the room, picked up, then handed me a sharp hook made for cutting a lot of thread in a hurry. She had been stitched into her clothes, so I found the clumsy seam in the back, and ran the hook up along it, popping the threads loose. She stepped out of the dress, which could practically stand on its own, and discarded it upon the floor. She stood barefoot in a chemise and corset, and began tugging at my quintessentially twenty-first century attire. The jacket was no mystery, but she had never had to undo a cravat or a zip before, so she fumbled a bit.

Eventually, I was down to nothing, and I picked up the hook once more and ran it up the back of her corset. The thing fell away from her like dead bark from a tree, and she pulled her chemise up over her head. All that was left was her hair, which she unpinned and let flow down her back like a cascade. She stepped backwards and took her place within the lush crimson bedclothes, and I followed, sinking down on top of her.

My lips and tongue explored the smooth, pale flesh beneath her jawbone, and I grew voracious, hungry, growling in her ear.

She was panting as well, and in her breathy outbursts, she said, "I'm sorry, Doctor."

"Shh," I said. "I know. It's all right."

Another minute passed, and we kissed and prodded at each other moaned, and I thought, forgot all about our troubles for a bit. Suddenly, I found that she had spread her legs, and I poised myself to push inside. Then she said, suddenly, "Oh, just one more thing, Doctor!"

"Mm?" I asked, still kissing her ears and neck.

"I'm not really a virgin," she whispered huskily.

"I know that, too," I said, half a second before thrusting forward. Suddenly, I was shagging the Queen of England, and no matter what hideous thing happened now, nothing could take this away from me.

Before long, I found myself on my back, watching the tiny, lovely Queen writhe upon me. As I have said, she was a woman who understood pleasure, and I had seen much of this displayed over the past two weeks. But nothing prepared me for the grip she put on me, for the expert way in which she moved her hips and tightened her muscles. She made me moan and gasp, crackling through the air like no-one had, perhaps ever. And giving me pleasure gave her pleasure, so as my eyes went crossed trying to accommodate the shooting jets of shuddering joy, I watched her come over and over again, then begin the whole process once more.

She had me on the edge for an hour, and eventually over the edge, flailing and grasping as if I were flying over a cliff. Eventually, we started up again, but I did not let her take the reins. As I often do with a novelty, I showed off. I dug my elbows into the bed and drove in, gritted my teeth like an animal, she let me toss and turn her like a ragdoll. We were tangling until almost dawn, and then fell asleep in utter exhaustion.

Most of the following day was much the same. I marvelled at how, given all of this, given what we knew of her, given the fiancés and clandestine friendships that were still to come into and go from her life, how she was still known to history as the Virgin Queen. Her experience was apparent, and this was not going to be the last day-long shag of her life. She would go on to have a rich life of love and pleasure… of course, all that mattered _to me_ was the here and now. I was like a piston, and she wasn't taking it like a virgin.

I tried hard to concentrate on the pleasure, the enormity of it, and not the fact that this was probably a way to stall from talking about our situation, and that in a few days' time, I'd be gone and she'd be, I now knew, heartbroken.

* * *

We did, however, manage to climb out of bed in time for dinner. As Elizabeth dressed, I went to the outermost room of the north wing. The guard let me into the room without question. Not so clever of him.

To my surprise, Katt, Rolor and Cecon were dressing.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" I asked, checking out their new duds, looking at them with shock.

"We've been invited to dinner again," Katt told me. "That's good, isn't it?"

I shrugged. "I suppose. I'm just surprised."

"We are too," Cecon told me. "From prisoners to guests."

"It's been known to happen," I said. "Listen, I have a plan to get us out of here…"

"You still want to leave?" Rolor asked. He looked at his comrades. "We were actually just now discussing the fact that we might have to get used to staying here."

"Of course I want to leave," I told him, though I understood why they thought that. "I'm sorry I've been keeping you in the dark. She's not an easy woman to slip away from."

"We'd noticed," Rolor said. And then, ever the blunt instrument, he said, "What will you tell Allison when we get back to Seulia Major?"

A rush of heat came over me and I sighed. Allison. Now there was a name I hadn't thought of in a couple of weeks. I supposed I hadn't let myself.

Come to that, there was a whole life before even meeting her, a string of loss and gaping wounds. Donna, the one who I could never speak to again. Astrid, the one who died for me. Martha, the one who thought I didn't care. Reinette, the one who died waiting. And Rose, the one who just got lost. How could I have ever gotten so far away from this part of my life, this part of my psyche? This little detour had begun as a way to free myself somewhat from their clutches, from the superego that kept me from indulging my id. And I had indulged now, but I hadn't meant for this to let me put them all out of my mind so fully.

I suppose trying to stay alive will do that, but that was nothing new for me. How could I have done this?

More importantly, how could I now be thinking of adding Elizabeth to that list?

"Doctor," Katt said. "I must apologise for my officer. He is young and unsubtle." He flashed Rolor a nasty look, and the younger many blushed.

"No, he's right," I said. "Listen, men, I came here to tell you my plan. But now there's been a change. Just give me until tonight to regroup, and I'll come back and tell you everything, all right?"


	29. Dead

Dead

We were announced as we came down to dinner. It was just the household, the three militia men, some of Elizabeth's cousins, and us. Still rather a small group, considering.

But the royal blowhards were quickly developing a plan to make sure that the world very soon came in on our blissful little bubble.

As we entered the Great Hall, Yarborough, the head of the household, handed us each a goblet of wine, and proposed a toast. "Here's to our God, your love, and the security of our Realm! And I'm pleased to tell you, your Majesty, that in one week's time, you and your new groom will be ushered into London, and your nuptials will be officially announced to the Parliament, and to all of your adoring subjects! The world will be watching, and you shall be radiant!" With that, we all drank, he took Elizabeth's hand and bowed, and then we sat down to dinner.

Though, having heard what Yarborough had just said, I wasn't sure that my Time Lord stomach could keep the pheasant down.

The Howard cousins were still at Hatfield of course, and they had always been known for being a bold lot. At dinner, I think I was groped by at least two of the women and one of the men. But none of it bothered me. The uncomfortable part was still to come, later, in the bedroom, with my wife.

She had been quiet all evening, stealing little glances at me, rather than gazing at me adoringly as she had, all during our engagement. This was the first time we'd appeared together since we'd become brutally honest with one another, and it was taking its toll. She was still young, though not naïve, and those two qualities were warring inside of her.

* * *

I couldn't leave the party fast enough, frankly, and when we returned to our chamber, we had only been outside of it for less than three hours.

Elizabeth's hair and makeup and carefully-put-together wardrobe came quickly undone as she pulled pins and clips and threads all over the place, until she was back in her chemise. I watched her; she wasn't being coquettish or sexy or anything like it. She was feeling stifled. Her life was being run for her, and the only time when she could be herself and feel free was in this room. And this was why she'd never planned on marrying.

I was standing next to the window, and she looked at me and sighed heavily. She was feeling it now. No-one had bothered to ask what she thought about it, she was just _told_ that she'd be riding into London, and _told_ that she was now to welcome the world into our private union. And now, we were to recommence our private union, but I was _a husband_, who, according to God and the world she knew, was the boss of her. She was feeling the fight, and I could see it rise up in her. She was losing herself.

"All right?" I asked.

"Sorry?"

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Just... a bit breathless."

"Anything I can do?"

"No," she said, shaking her head sadly. "There is not, in truth. Just do not let anyone know."

"About what?" I asked, coming round, sitting on the freshly-made bed in front of her. "That you're feeling breathless?"

"About any of it. That our marriage is a sham. That I love you anyway. That I'm feeling crushed by the whole bloody regimen."

"I know it won't help, but most royal marriages _are_ a sham," I told her. "I reckon that's one reason you'd promised yourself that you'd never have any part of it."

"True," she agreed. Then something seemed to dawn on her. Her eyes opened wide and she looked at me with alarm. "What if I'm... you know, with child? What if that's what's making me feel this way?"

I smiled. "You wouldn't be feeling the symptoms this quickly," I said.

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure. Trust me, I'm the Doctor," I whispered, standing to kiss her cheek. "And soon... part of the strain will be gone, and you'll breathe again."

"What do you mean?"

I sighed. "Elizabeth, you were very honest with me last night, and now I feel I owe you the same courtesy."

"All right." She looked scared and confused.

"What I'm going to tell you is going to sound outrageous, the stuff of faerie tales and... nonsense. But I need you to trust me, and just know that you won't have to deal with _any _of it. I will not lie to you – you have my word. All right?"

"All right," she repeated.

"I'm not from here. I don't belong here."

"I already know that."

"But there's more. I'm not only not from this place, I'm not from this time."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm a time-traveller," I confessed. "I'm from... oh, another world. I am someone without a home, without an era. I have been into the past and into the future, sideways in time, and back again. I have knowledge of everything that's ever been, and access to everything that ever will be."

"You said you would not lie to me," she said meekly.

"And I will not. Am not. This is the truth, I swear it. I know what your world tells you is true, but you are a woman of faith and character. Can't you believe that there are things in the universe that you just don't understand?"

"I can."

"Then you're cleverer than anyone has ever given you credit for. My friends, your prisoners, they are from a time that is thousands of years in your future, and all they want is to go home. They are not a threat to you – Catholics and Henry Fitzroy and William the Conqueror, they are all but lost to history in their time. They have virtually no idea who you are."

"And you?"

"I'm different," I said, taking her hands. "I have been all over in time, and I know with perfect clarity who you are. You are Queen Elizabeth the first, Good Queen Bess, the Virgin Queen, the long-reigning last monarch of the Tudor Dynasty in England."

"The last?"

"Yes," I told her. I took her cheeks between my palms. "Elizabeth, we _cannot_ go into London and announce our marriage. We cannot. I know how your life plays out, and I'm not in it. You are known to history as the Virgin Queen because you were never supposed to marry. You are the last Tudor because unmarried means no heir. If the Parliament and the world find out about us, history is damaged and..." I let go of her.

"And what?"

"And I have failed as a time traveller. Again. It's too much risk. Not to London, my Queen. Not with me."

"Then why did you marry me?"

I felt like telling her that she hadn't given me a choice, and that I hadn't wanted to be thrown into the stable with no hope of escape, but I reckoned that sooner or later, she'd work that out for herself. "Caught up in the moment," I said. "In all of the moments."

Her eyes narrowed, and she turned her head. "I knew there was something _different_ in you."

I smiled. "You did know, didn't you?"

"Not that you travel in time," she said quietly. "But I knew somehow that this here and now... it was not for you. Was not enough. You're the Doctor. You're of a different ilk, my love."

"You believe me."

"I do, but it's nonsense. I do not know why I believe."

"Because you're of a different ilk as well," I told her. "And it's why you're going to be a great ruler."

"So you're leaving me." Her voice was flat and expressionless, and she wasn't looking at me.

"If you'll release my friends to me, yes."

"And if I will not?"

"Then I'll break them out. I have to, and you know it. There's no room for me in your life."

"What about for me, in your life?"

I sighed. Hadn't seen that coming. Not sure why. She was an intelligent and dynamic woman who believed in life beyond what was right in front of her, why wouldn't she want to come along and see it all? If she'd been almost anyone else in the universe, I might have said yes. But at this point, the stupidity of my decision to invite Reinette into the TARDIS was coming back to me, and all of those considerations applied here, and even more.

"No, I'm sorry," I said. "My life is full and dangerous, and anyway, you have to stay here and run this country. You've got to keep the Stuarts in line, push forward with the Church of England, endorse the arts... you've got a lot to do. And you've got to do it on your own."

"You _know_ this?"

"I do. I know it's difficult to believe, but it's what history tells us, and what your future holds."

"I'm to be alone?"

I nodded. "I'm sorry. But you'll be spectacular."

She turned away from me, and her body pulled up tight. "You said 'til death do us part. In front of God, and everyone."

"I know."

"God will forgive us, but everyone else will not. I will be disgraced."

"I know."

"Til death do us part. So you'll have to die."

"I know."

She moved toward the giant Revelations door, opened it a smidge and called for Brutus.

* * *

We spent one more night together, ostensibly so as not to arouse suspicion. But we both knew the truth. We were great together, at least in that one very exciting way, and neither one of us wanted me sleeping in a cold room across the hall just so that we could have a chilly, sleepless night apart.

Before the sun came up, I rose. I put on my suit and trainers, then crawled across the bed and planted a kiss on Elizabeth's forehead. Her eyes opened slowly.

"Goodbye," I whispered.

She sighed hard, and her lips pursed. Her eyes filled with tears, and she said, "Goodbye."

I stroked her hair for a few moments, and her eyes slipped closed again. As an afterthought, I leaned down, and very softly in her ear, I said, "You'll see me again."

She didn't respond, except with a deep breath of sleep, and I slipped out of the room. Brutus met me outside and escorted me out into the forest. The house had been surprisingly devoid of guards; I assumed that had been part of the ruse. We shook hands, and I went to my TARDIS to bring her alive, and to wait.

* * *

I communed with my ship, inspected her gears, the damaged Time Rotor which had brought us here. I was satisfied that all was ready there. I inspected the back hallways and rooms, verified that full power had been restored to all parts of the vessel. I was aware that I would be attempting to fly her back into a battle just off Seulia Major, at a particular moment, just after I'd left. I still had a life to save, and I wanted to be precise. I did not want the TARDIS to be "off" in anyway. If I was going to screw this up, it was going to be because of me.

Three hours passed before Katt, Rolor and Cecon darkened the doorway.

"Thank goodness!" I exclaimed. "I was beginning to think they'd forgotten you!"

"No, they definitely did not," Fekom Katt said.

"They tried to have us stay for the funeral," Cecon said. "It's a good thing Fitzwilliam brought us up to speed, or we might have been right worried, Doctor. Why didn't you come back last night, as you said you would? We thought, at the very least, we'd been abandoned in the plan."

"Sorry about that," I said. "We thought it would be better if you lot thought I was dead too. More convincing – we reckoned the whole house would be looking to you, after the Queen, that is. When did he tell you I was still among the living?"

"About, oh, five minutes ago," Rolor said. "Thanks, mate."

"The Queen came down for breakfast, weeping, and Fitzwilliam was escorting her," Cecon explained. "Yarborough explained that the Queen's beloved groom had perished overnight."

"They asked us to help plan the funeral," Katt said. "We weren't sure what to say. We don't really know you that well..."

"Yeah, and frankly," confessed Rolor. "I was more concerned with the fact that I was stuck here, in this forsaken era, where they don't even have proper hygiene..."

"Anyway," Katt continued, giving Rolor what must have been the thousandth dirty look in the past two weeks. "Your funeral is Sunday."

"And when are they burying me?" I couldn't resist asking.

"Apparently, you died of something unknown, and your body was bloated and your tongue blackened, so it is currently on a pyre someplace, being burned for fear of plague. Fitzwilliam removed you from the household before dawn, so as not to upset anyone."

"Well, that part is true," I said. "Are they also quarantining the Queen?"

"Of course not," Katt shrugged, the first whimsical bit of sarcasm I'd seen from him.

"Marvellous. Makes perfect sense," I said.

"Yep," said Katt. "Fitzwilliam brought us outside and explained along the way that you and she had arranged for a fake death. We were quite relieved."

"Thanks, I appreciate that. Are you boys ready to roll?"

"My, are we," Cecon said, clapping his hands.

"Er, why don't you three go back and change into your original clothes," I suggested. "Can't fly into battle dressed like that – you'll burst into flames or get your golden threads caught upon a fibreglass nail in the corridors or something."

Cecon and Rolor disappeared down the corridor, and Katt remained. "Thanks for not leaving us, Doctor."

"No problem, sir," I told him. "Wouldn't be my style."

"It's not your style to leave anyone behind," he said.

I looked down. "No, it's not."

"And yet you must."

"Yep."

"We all have to make choices, I suppose."

"Yeah."

"I see your choice is made," he said. "Who gets left, I mean."

"I can't stay here," I told him defensively. "I can't bring her along – she's too important to history."

"I understand. All I'm saying is... well, you're going to be taking us back to the battle at Seulia Major where we left off. And I know it's not your style to leave anyone behind, but you're already dead here, and that's enough. When we arrive there, don't die again trying to save someone who's lost."

I looked at him, searching for hardness, military efficiency which was often something that aggravated me. But I found none. He was being a friend, telling me not to get my hopes up, and not to risk my life inside the complex if I already knew that Allison was dead.

"I hear you," I said. "But I'm still going back in."

"I know, and we'll do everything we can to help. Just be careful."

"Thanks. I will."

He followed his comrades and disappeared down the hall, and I fired up the console for departure. The gears ground, and I smiled widely, not having heard the beautiful, musical scraping sound in far too long. But then, a red flashing light caught my attention. It was a small light, most likely a minor malfunction, and if I'd been travelling at my leisure with a companion or alone, I'd have ignored it until I was in a better position to repair it. But as I'd said, today, I wanted to be precise. Nothing could go wrong. I knew that Katt was right about not getting my hopes up, and I was still just a bit bruised from leaving Elizabeth's side under those circumstances, but I still really, really wanted to save Allison. I still really wanted her with me. I missed her terribly anytime I thought about her, and with departure in sight, I'd thought about her a lot.

The light indicated that something external was wrong. I exited the TARDIS, but could find nothing amiss. Still blue, still wooden, still eight feet tall. The lights were on, the hinges worked fine – what was the problem?

I found my answer in the next ten seconds. The perception filter was on the blink. We were seen.

"Doctor!" I heard as I inspected the TARDIS' outsides. A shocked voice coming from far away. I looked behind me, startled, as what looked like a hunting party approached on horseback.

I cursed harshly, and willed the militia men to stay inside. I didn't need them out, causing further complication.

The voice had been that of Yarborough, and in tow, he had four or five ladies-in-waiting, as many household guards, and six or seven Howard cousins. And as the group stopped near me, the crowd parted and Elizabeth came forward. My hearts sank. She looked at me with narrowed, mean eyes. My own eyes tried to convey supplication, but it was too late. I'd been caught escaping, and now everyone knew that I'd left her.

"What was that sound?" Yarborough cried out at me. "I demand to know! And what in the name of God is that thing?"

"It matters not, Yarborough," the Queen shot at him. "What matters is the cruel deception with which I am now faced."

"Indeed, ma'am. Apologies," he said.

She climbed down off her horse and approached me. She got very close to me and whispered, "How could you do this to me? You are meant to be dead!"

"I know!"

"We covered every detail last night, what we would say, when you would leave, what we would tell your friends..."

"I'm sorry," I whispered back. "Something went wrong!"

"How could you get caught? You are too clever for this! Are you _trying _to hurt me?"

"Of course not! Why didn't you stop your hunting party following the noise?"

"Do not put the blame on me, Doctor. You swore!"

"I know!"

"Everyone can see you," she said. "Everyone knows!"

"I can see that! I'm sorry, Elizabeth!"

"What would you have me do now, Doctor? What?" Her voice was high and desperate, but quiet.

"Oh for God's sake, Elizabeth," I hissed. I looked at her squarely, without tenderness, without remorse. "You're the Queen. Act like it."

Her jaw clenched, and I could see anger rising. She stepped back from me and turned to her party. "No word of this incident shall ever pass your lips. No mention of this man, the Doctor, shall ever breach the grounds of Hatfield House, under penalty of death. Is that understood?"

The ladies, guards, and cousins all nodded and answered variously, "Yes, Your Majesty, yes ma'am."

She turned to me. "As for you, you have disgraced me before my own. You said that I shall see you again. Well, then, when that day comes, sir, you and I are sworn enemies. If our paths should cross, then I suggest that you run heartily. Because, Doctor, at this moment, I should like to kill you myself, but my lingering affection for you, in spite of myself, will not allow me. However, I cannot make the same assertion for a future date when I am older and wiser. So go. Leave my Realm, and hope, for your own safety, that you were wrong, and that I shall not see you again."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

She bit her lip. Then she gathered herself and hurled back, "Go!"

So I went.

The militia men were standing in the console room when I got back inside, looking ready for battle, eight thousand years from now.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," Katt said.

"It's all right," I said. "That just made it easier."

I flipped the switch, once again, which threw us into motion, and soon the TARDIS was tumbling head-over-heels, and I knew we were in battle again.

But we'd missed. Five minutes had passed since we left. I'd been distracted and upset and I'd flipped the switch too quickly...

Five _vital_ minutes.


	30. Closure

**Okay folks! This is the second-to-last chapter of a truly strange piece of fiction. It's almost over! :-(**

**This one packs a punch - hope you're ready and will enjoy!**

* * *

Closure

The militia men were hanging on, and Fekom Katt had reverted to form, shouting commands, and he had his comm device in his hand, back in contact with their home ship. No-one had even realised we'd blipped off the radar for five minutes.

The temperature was rising on Seulia Major, the heating bombs were still bombing, and the humanoids were in terrible danger. Five whole minutes!

"Doctor! There's a cell of survivors in the westernmost sector, an our troops couldn't get to them before they were driven out, but we have to hurry!" Katt said. "Some of them have already died from heatstroke, and they're dropping like flies!"

"Hold on!" I shouted, driving the TARDIS in manually, flying over broken hallways, shattered panes of glass and gaping wounds in the complex that were oozing heat. I had to get to a calmer place so I could set coordinates and attempt to apparate into the complex. I hoped that the transmat ban had been destroyed or reversed, and that I was able to make the TARDIS materialise. Without that, we'd share the same fate as the militia: we'd have to retreat ineffectually.

My hearts were pounding, and at least one of them was in my throat. In spite of the episode, not two minutes before, with Elizabeth, one word was pounding in my brain: _Allison_. Over and over and over. _Allison, Allison._

I tried to resist the temptation to go back to the Traffic Development Office where she and I had lived and worked and made love and shared hopes and a few really terrible moments. All of it was part of my story now, all of it. I knew that to go there first would be selfish and probably not very wise, and I was glad that I had three militia men who, in this world, had a clue what they were doing, and could keep me honest. I just hoped against hope that she'd somehow made it to that little cell of survivors.

The TARDIS reached a relatively calm patch of space, I said a quick prayer to whomever was listening, and set the TARDIS to land in the complex, in the western sector. It actually worked.

I glanced outside and found that we were in a heavily damaged corridor, glass ceilings, red carpets, similar to the corridors I'd seen when Allison and I had been taken before the council of hovery chairs, or whatever it was. It was hot, and the air was being sucked out slowly, and I could feel the gravity failing. I had to find the humanoid survivors, and fast.

We trouped out into the corridor, feeling immediately the shortness of oxygen. I went to the right with Cecon, while Rolor and Katt went to the left. Katt indicated his comm device, and I nodded, implying that I would let him know if I found anything. Cecon had a similar device on his belt, of course.

Two short twists and turns later, I found a door, and there was commotion on the other side of it. A female voice inside was attempting to calm the masses. Cecon got on his device and informed Katt that we'd found something.

I sonicked our way inside, and a hundred voices rose with gasp when Cecon and I entered.

"No, no, it's okay," I said holding up my hands. "I'm here to help. My ship is just around the corner, and if you want to live, you'll come with me!"

"Who are you?" a woman said to me. Her voice had been the one trying to abate the panic a few seconds earlier.

"I'm the Doctor. Who are you?"

"Mavis LaHaye."

"Nice to meet you Mavis LaHaye. Now get your people out of here!"

"You have room for all of us? We're not leaving anyone behind."

"I wouldn't hear of it," I said. "Cecon, please escort these folks to the TARDIS. Let me know if you see..."

"Will do," Cecon said, understanding. I began to usher people through the door from the rear of the crowd, all the while keeping my eyes open for Allison. I knew she'd find me if she was here, so I didn't call her name.

When the room was empty, I lost hope. I went back to the TARDIS and the three men stood outside waiting for me.

"I counted heads, Doctor," Cecon told me. "There are one hundred thirty-eight living in there, and eleven dead. Many of them insisted on bringing the bodies of their loved ones..."

"It's fine," I said. "We'll work out what to do with them, once we get everyone out of here."

"Allison is not among them, I'm afraid."

"I know. Thanks for trying."

"I believe this is where we part company, Doctor," Fekom Katt said, stepping forward. "It's time for us to retreat."

"Yes," I said, shaking his hand, palm to wrist. "Thank you for coming to our rescue."

"It didn't go as we'd hoped."

"All the same. This lot, they survived because you came. They owe you – we all do."

"And we owe you," Rolor said, to my surprise. "Thanks for getting us out of England, Doctor. We were not keen on staying."

"Well, it was the least I could do, since I'd got you into it," I said, shaking his hand as well.

I said my goodbyes to Cecon, and dematerialised the TARDIS, rematerialising in the TDO. I asked Mavis to group everyone according to home planet, so that I could bring them home. She agreed, and I exited the TARDIS with my hearts pounding.

The room was just as I'd left it. Blue walls, computers, stale carpet and institutional chairs, only the heat was sweltering. The air was burning my skin, and I knew I would not find anyone alive in there, though I didn't see Allison. I had perhaps a minute before my organs began to shut down and I'd lose consciousness.

I forced myself to calm down and walk toward the supply closet door. It's where she would have gone if she'd lost all hope and crawled somewhere to die.

And that's where I found her. She was curled up on her patch of carpet, her long brown hair fanned out like silk behind her head, her emerald eyes closed to the world, and her arms and legs clutching round my long brown coat. Her face was pressed to it like a security blanket, and the tears were still fresh on her grey, lifeless face. The breath left my body, even more so than before, and I stifled a sob. Her last act had been to grab onto the last vestige of me, and hold it close. I hoped that she'd taken her last breath loving me, waiting for me, still with hope in her heart, rather than wondering why the hell I hadn't come back for her yet. Just thinking about what I'd been doing in that time, and whom I'd been doing it with, made me sick with regret.

I moaned her name, and then bent down, picked her up, along with my coat, and carried her back into the TARDIS.

The commotion inside stopped as I entered, and a collective groan seemed to replace the excitement in the air. I couldn't hold it in any longer, the tears let loose, and streamed down my face in a gush. I laid her down on the metal floor at the top of the ramp, and uncaring of who could see, leaned over Allison's body and wept.

* * *

I have no idea how long I stayed this way, but when I looked up, humanoids from all walks of life were around me, holding onto each other, supporting each other, some of them crying along with me. As an afterthought, I examined Allison to make absolutely certain that she was gone, and couldn't be saved. But she had no pulse, no breath, no vital signs whatsoever, and parts of her skin were dry and cracked open, though not bleeding. In a five-minute window, she had cooked to death in our little supply closet, and it so could have been prevented. So many things should have and could have gone differently, and she could have escaped with me and we could have had...

"Doctor," someone said, kneeling at my side. It was a short, female Tri-Oolian, with the signature Tri-Oolian horns upon her forehead. "My name is Renna. I didn't know your friend here, but we were all in servitude together. As you can see, we've lost quite a few of our own." She indicated a small area to my right where the humanoids had chosen to lay their dead. "I would be honoured if you would bring her to my home planet of Tri-Oolia. We revere the dead, and parts of our planet are adorned with ceremonial funeral pyres. We burn them cleanly, efficiently and with dignity. We are the best in the universe at caring for those who have been lost, whilst those who are left behind care for one another."

I sniffled, and thanked her.

Mavis approached me, indicating to me the groups of people and where they belonged in the universe. She, Renna, a guy named Trevor and I made up a plan for bringing all one-hundred thirty-eight living souls home.

Our first stop, everyone agreed, should be Tri-Oolia. Renna and her people were all too reverent about burning our dead, and, as they put it, caring for those who have been lost. The ceremonies were touching, and it was the closest thing some of us would ever have to a proper goodbye with our loved ones. One hour after our arrival, a male Tri-Oolian in formal robes deposited a beautiful ceramic box in my hands, adorned with various images of Earth's natural wonders. On the top, there was a gold panel engraved with the word _Allison_. I thanked them, then took the urn, and myself, back into the TARDIS to wait. I did not want to watch the rest.

Once everyone was back inside, properly aggrieved, many of them carrying urns with them, we set a course for forty-five separate planets and time periods, leaving a few humanoids off everywhere we went. The final stop was Earth, twenty-fourth, and then twenty-first century. Mavis and her son were the last to go, and asked to be dropped off in Hanalei, Hawaii, 11 November, 2006, on the northern end of the Garden Island of Kaua'i. It was here that they had both been raised, and taken into servitude, and here where they would find their family and home once more. From this day, they had only been gone for one week, and could pick up their lives just about where they'd left off.

I, however, could not. It was definitely time for me to stop trying to pick up where I left off. It was time to go. I'd known that when we'd landed in 1559, but the sidetrack had been truly wicked there.

* * *

When they were gone, I walked along the beach on Hanalei Bay, watched the surfers play in the high mist, saw a rainbow come down across the circular strand, and felt peaceful for the first time in months. The rains came before long, so I put on my coat and wandered into the town and walked slowly down the main drag, of course, seeing Allison's face upon every passing stranger. And not just hers, but all the others as well. She had become a symbol of the string of pain I'd left behind, the love, the lust, the loss... the most intense bits were embodied in her. The combustible physical relationship, the quick and blinding realisation of love, the world-shattering, violent, bloody event that took her from me, and the horrible way in which she died. It was all there, in a little box, staring me in the face, asking for closure.

But we can't force closure. We can, however, find it in the unlikeliest of places. A post card caught my eye on a wire spinner, just outside a campy souvenirs shop. It was the image of jagged, exotic-looking green mountains that sloped down into deeply-cut valleys. The caption on the back said "The Na Pali Coast at sunset." I was moved by the image, and it occurred to me that fate had brought me here for a reason. The last time anything green had struck me in such a way... well, let's just say that the universe has a way of giving one messages, guiding us on our path.

The Na Pali sunset, and Allison's eyes.

I went back to the TARDIS and set a course for the northern coast, Na Pali at dusk. There, I stood on a cliff face in the rain and dusted the waters below with what remained of the woman I'd loved so briefly, but so hard, on a distant planet, eight thousand years away.

I knew that somewhere in this world, her family wondered where she was and what had become of her. But only I knew now. I didn't know how to tell them, even if I could find them, and I knew they wouldn't believe it anyhow. More broken hearts, more grief – these were not things I wished to have more of in this life (wishful thinking), so I kept her death to myself. I was the only one who had cared about her in the last few years of her life, and I left her to eternity, there in the most beautiful place I had seen in recent memory. And for one who had lived for several years, and finally died in captivity, I felt that the sea was a fitting place to rest. Restless, moveable, endless.

I stood upon that cliff and watched the sun go down, seeing myself and Allison into the night. When I could no longer see the ocean below, could no longer lay eyes upon her final, vast, oscillating home, I returned to the little town, closing down for the night.

A little beverage cart was pulling in its wares, and I thought I'd ask for a cup of tea before they shut. I paid a discount price for some very strong, bottom-of-the-pot black tea, and said thanks. As I turned to go, the elderly lady who ran the cart stopped me. Like many places, this small business randomly sold fresh leis to tourists, and because it was the end of the day and orchids were going to wilt, the lady came round and slipped one over my head. Then she kissed me on the cheek and went back to packing up for the day.

Twenty minutes later, the downpour was torrential, so I ducked inside a brightly-lit garment shop to try and find a bit of dry. After another twenty minutes of chatting with the large gentleman who ran the joint, I realised the rain wasn't going to stop soon, so I purchased a wide-brimmed tweed hat and went on my way. The rain was out of my face and so I wasn't in any particular hurry – I took my time getting back to the TARDIS.

One more stop before surrendering myself to the Oodsphere, one more important task to accomplish before I went into another battle and emerged as a different man. I went back into the environs of Seulia Major, several months after the fray that killed Allison but brought down the humanoid livestock trade there. I flitted about in the stars, marvelling at the faraway galaxies, the oldest ones sparkling the brightest.

Except for one. That young, shapeless, spectacular galaxy into which we had jettisoned the black boxes of heat, as we were leaving Seulia Major. Radioactive stardust and sentient heat combusted together, which made it one of the youngest, most brilliant and enduring galaxies in the universe. I went to the screen on the TARDIS console, and looked through the database of galaxy names. The older ones had names, the bright ones, mostly pretentious Greek names, or things like "Princess Babydoll," from an era when it was chic for proud fathers to name galaxies after their spoiled, whiny daughters for their coming-of-age.

But our young glittering galaxy was still unnamed. I typed in a request to name it, and called it simply _Allison._ The heat that had brought her death was bringing life and beauty somewhere else, and I felt that her name should be attached. For the next million years, _Allison_ would shine over the skies of Seulia Major, prevailing, having won, even one so young.


	31. Epilogue

**Friends, this is the end of the Doctor's "Detour." It's short but sweet, and I hope you have enjoyed yourself immensely, with this oddity. Thank you for reading and staying with me, and I hope you'll come with me into the next endeavor! **Epilogue

* * *

Landing in the Oodsphere after I had so blatantly flouted the Oods' call was not going to be easy. I knew I'd be faced with scolding and their highly-refined skills of guilt-tripping. Leave it to psychic beings to know your deepest, darkest secrets and then lay it on thick.

"You should not have delayed, Time Lord," they would say.

"I know, I'm sorry," I pictured myself saying.

"Why are you being such an arse?" they would ask.

"I just know that my song is ending, and I realised that during this particular little ditty, I hadn't fully indulged in the gifts I'd been given, if you catch my meaning."

"You are confusing and off-putting. Please explain yourself, Time Lord."

"I was feeling the need for a pickle tickle," I would say. "A bit of a hedge-trim. A laying of pipe, a shtup, a shag, a bone… are you with me?"

There would be silence. Then, "Are you fucking kidding me?" the Ood would ask. "First you go and screw with the laws that _your people_ had set for the continuum of time and space, and when we call you on it, you go off and get laid for three months, and _then_ decide to drag your sorry arse in here, and have the nerve to say you're bloody _sorry?_ Holy bejeezus, Time Lord, get a grip! If your people were alive, they'd toss you into the Sea of Patience and Pain with a cinderblock tied to your ankle!"

Now, granted, it was highly unlikely that the Ood would say anything quite so colourful, but I was nervous, and in no position to second-guess my overactive superego. This was all clearly my conscience flogging itself, and my self deserved it.

I'd thought that I could spend one "innocent" night with someone and get it out of my system. Instead, I'd used a naïve, though admittedly vile, young girl's not-so-secret treasures in order to steal her property. Then, I'd got dragged into an interplanetary mess involving beings who imbibed bodily fluids and kept their people in line through oral sex and pseudo-pagan temple shagging. And in the process of that, I'd let an attractive Somovore completely mess with my head and give me serious "companion" issues… and I enjoyed it. Following that, I'd spent over a month in an office with a woman I eventually fell in love with, and then got killed. Then, I almost turned history on its ear once more by bedding down with the Queen of England and marrying her, narrowly missing changing the course of British history and winding up as the oddly-dressed, spike-haired mystery man in the history books. Yeah, the Ood were right to call me an arse.

Not that I wanted to hear it. At this point in my great voyage in being an utter prat, I'd just gloss it over, pretend I was just a big kid, unremorseful for getting into some trouble, proud of my whimsy, et cetera, et cetera… you know me.

Anyway, I've had it with the guilt.

I materialised in the snow of the Oodsphere, peeked outside, and saw Ood Sigma staring me down.

Blimey. Here goes.


End file.
